Playing House
by ravenluvslex
Summary: Finally updated! Added "lost" chapter between Hobbies n Hot Fudge. Sorry it took so long to finish. I'd love to know if anyone is still reading. This is an original character WIP. House enlists the help a high school student to save a patient, but there is more to her than meets the eye. Any and all feedback is welcome. Comments in general make me happy. Edited by Patty
1. Blue Coconut

TITLE: Chapter 1 Blue Coconut

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: PG-13

WARNINGS: Drug use, language,

SUMMARY: House enlists the help of high school student to save a patient.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

House stepped under the shade of the bleachers. He didn't usually partake in these search parties, but they needed all the help they had to cover the same ground as a popular high school cheerleader. His eyes combed the ground for anything unusual among the snack wrappers and cigarette butts. He knew he wasn't likely to find any trace of whatever had poisoned his young patient.

"Are you some kind of creeper?" asked a voice behind him.

"Yes." House told her as he continued his search.

The girl glanced over her shoulder and then back at House before slipping under the bleachers. She pulled a crushed pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her ripped jeans. "Mind if I smoke?"

He shook his head with his eyes still on the ground. "Do you know Rachel McKenna?"

"Sure, I know of her. Why what's wrong with her?"

"Why do you assume something is wrong?" House turned his attention to her for the first time to see that she was a stunning brunette with large almond shaped brown eyes and full lips. She didn't actually have the words "fuck off" printed on her face, but the black t-shirt that said "Just because I understand doesn't mean I care." was pretty damn close.

"Because she wasn't in homeroom."

"Do you know where she was on Saturday night after the game?"

The girl's jaw tightened ever so slightly. "You should talk to Tommy Thompson." She took a drag and watched the smoke curl from the tip of her cigarette.

"You mean her boyfriend, Tommy Miller?"

"No not her boyfriend. " She paused. "She was down here with Thompson on Saturday night. I work the concessions stand during events. I came down here on my break. Whatever happened, it was already over when I got here. I followed her to make sure. She met her boyfriend outside the locker room and they left."

"Were they drinking? Smoking? Snorting?"

"No. He was zipping his pants. She was just sitting there. She was definitely stoned or something. Something wasn't right. I didn't even think she saw me, but as she walked by she was like 'please don't tell anybody.' It was messed up."

"You think Tommy drugged her and raped her."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

"Personal experience?"

"No. I knew a girl who said he did the same to her. She didn't think it counted as rape though. She never reported him."

"You never reported it?"

"What would I say? Teenagers are getting high and having sex. This is not compelling testimony."

"And you have no idea what he gave her?"

"No."

"She'll die."

"I might be able to find out. Do you have a card or something?"

He dug through his pocket and pulled out a card and a pen. He wrote his cell number on the back.

"Dr. House." She noted and stuffed the card in her pocket as she was putting out her cigarette with her thick black boot. "It'll be later, after school. I have to get back… Good luck."

"You too."

She took a few steps toward the school and turned again. "I'm Chris by the way."

House went into the school in search of Tommy Thompson and was soon escorted out by security. When he got back to the office he had his team call every Tom and Thomas Thompson in the phone book while he searched the school website for clues to the kid's whereabouts.

Chris checked her reflection in the window before knocking on the door. She had taken her hair down and put on dark gray eye shadow over her usual heavy black eye liner. She already regretted the very short dress she had chosen but it was too late to change her mind. A girl's life was at stake. She knocked on the door and held her breath.

There was a rustle at the curtain and then Tommy Thompson opened the door. "What the hell do you want?" He almost yelled, but his expression changed as his eyes moved down her body.

"I thought you might have something I need." She looked around nervously.

"You want to come in?"

"Sure."

He held open the door, but didn't move. She barely had enough room to slip between him and the doorframe. He closed the door behind them and she heard the lock click.

"Beer?" He opened a small fridge and pulled out two bottles.

"Um sure." She took the bottle and eyed the cap suspiciously. The date sticker on the top showed it was expired. That explained why he was wasting it on her. She opened it and took a drink.

"So what do you need?"

"I'm having a little party. I know a guy but he won't answer my calls. He's probably in rehab again."

"Rehab is for quitters." Tommy laughed.

"Do you want a back rub?" She offered.

"You're not getting any freebies."

"Maybe a discount?" She grinned and patted the back of the couch in front of her.

He laughed and set his drink on the table between them. He sat on the couch and she leaned over the back and started to rub his neck and shoulders. After a few minutes he invited her to come and sit next to him.

She felt hot and her head was starting to spin. It had been a long time since she'd had alcohol but she could tell this was not the effect of an average beer. She considered leaving but doubted she could out run him.

"Ok. Let me get my drink. You want yours?"

"Yeah."

She handed him her bottle and watched him finish it. She took a sip of his and tried to make it look like she was chugging it. She stood beside him a while longer wondering how long it would take to affect him. If he was already on something, and he usually was, maybe whatever this was would hit him faster.

"Come here." He motioned to the couch.

"Hold on. Let me take my shoes off." She stalled. "I was just looking for weed but do you have anything better?"

"Oh I got something a lot better for you." He slurred and pulled her towards him.

"Yeah I bet." She kneeled on the couch next to him at arms distance. "Take off your shirt so I can finish rubbing your back."

"Why don't you take off your shirt?"

"You first, I give really good massages." She cooed and batted her lashes even though she was feeling sick and trying not to hold her breath. She just needed him to get comfortable and she could make her break for it. When he was face down on the couch she pulled her cell phone out of her bra and speed dialed Dr. House's number. As she slipped out the door she grabbed what was left of the tainted beer and she heard Tommy ask where she was going. "I just have to pee. I'll be right back."

"I thought I cancelled my subscription to this service." Came a voice from the phone. "Dr. House? This is Chris. Can you come get me?"

"Where are you?"

She gave him the address.

"I'm almost there."

House had already found the Thompson's address and was headed there when she called. Chris flopped down in the driveway spilling some of the beer. She heard him getting out of the car, but didn't try to get up. As he walked up the driveway he could see her outline on the concrete but didn't really recognize her until he was standing over her.

"Chris?" He poked her with his cane.

"Hey!" She opened her eyes.

"Brilliant plan. Get yourself poisoned with a drug I can't identify."

She held up the mostly empty bottle. "Ifs not nough he has more in the fridge."

He took the bottle. She sat up and looked around. "Why you drive such a old car if you're a doctor?"

"Expensive hookers. Can you walk?"

"Can I borrow your cane?"

"No."

She held her arm out for him to help her up. He kept a hold of her until she reached the car but didn't wait to make sure she got in ok. She fumbled with the seatbelt and when it clicked he started the car.

"I'm not stupid." She told him. "The bottles were sealed. It's was just expa… expirationed?"

"You went to a crack house in a nightgown. You're lucky you got out."

"It's his parent's garage and this happens to be a vurry nice dress."

"How _did_ you get out?"

"Switched bottles on him. He can't dish but he can take it."

"You drugged him?"

"Damn straight!" Chris leaned against the window with a proud smirk on her face.

House grinned and dialed for an ambulance to pick up the boy. It was the responsible thing to do. The fact that the police would also be sent out to discover Tommy's extensive supply of controlled substances was just icing on the cake.

Chris was sleeping when they pulled up in front of the emergency room at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. House opened her car door and poked her with his cane again.

"I'm so proud I didn't puke in your car." She told him as he helped her up. She looked up at him as she stood and steadied herself. "Dr. House?"

"Yes, drunk underage girl."

"I like your face." Her eyelids were heavy, but her mouth spread into an unguarded smile.

"Awww shucks. I bet you say that to all the guys who bring you to the ER." He led her toward the automatic doors.

"I'm serious. You're like… hot."

"You're like… 16." Inside the door he asked for a wheelchair and to have Dr. Chase paged.

"You're eyes are sooo blue…. like snow cones." She pronounced as he backed her into the wheelchair.

"Snow cones?"

"Blue coconut, the best flavor."

"Right. That would have been way cooler if it was a symptom. Oh look, here comes Dr. Chase to make sure you don't injure yourself before you sober up." He shoved the chair backwards to Chase. "I'll take this to the lab." House held up the beer bottle.

"Is that our toxin?" asked Chase.

"We'll find out, hopefully while this patient can still breathe and move."


	2. Quid Pro Quo?

TITLE: Chapter 2 Quid Pro Quo?

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: PG-13

WARNINGS: Violence

SUMMARY: There's more to Chris than meets the eye.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

When Chris woke there was an IV in her arm and an oxygen tube under her nose. Her mouth was dry and her stomach ached. The clock showed three in the afternoon. She'd missed a day of school and hadn't been home. She was grateful she'd told her mom she would be at a sleepover. She practiced the words "hello Mom" before reaching for the phone and dialing home.

"Sarah?"

"No Mom. It's me, Christaline."

"How was your party?"

"Not great. We think we ate some bad chicken. Rachel's mom is giving us soup and Pepto. I just wanted to let you know I might not be home tonight."

"How was school?"

"School was great."

"Liar!" House's voice chimed in from the door.

"Who's that? Are there boys at that party?"

"No Mom. That's Rachel's grandfather. He's really old and senile. I've got to let you go. He needs the phone."

"Don't drink after him."

"Ok Mom." Her mother's nonsensical responses barely registered with Chris anymore. "Love you."

"Love you sweetie."

Chris hung up the phone and waited for some explanation from House. House pulled a chair up beside her bed. She should have known he was preparing to extract an explanation from her as well.

"Well what is it?" She coughed. "Is Rachel ok? Am I ok?"

"Quid pro quo Clarice?" House made his crazy eyes at her and a hissing sucking noise.

"Can I get some water first? And that doesn't count as a question." She would have smiled if she had more energy.

"That totally counts." House hit the call button and requested the water. "My turn. Why is a twenty-one year old posing as a seventeen year old high school student?"

"I'm only twenty and seven-eighths. I am a high school student. I never said I was seventeen."

"You're Sociology paper shows May 4, 1994 as your birthday, but you're a Libra not a Taurus."

"I use it to keep my lies straight. It's my sister's birthday. It's just easier to remember." She looked down. She was too tired to care what he read in her face, much less give an effective lie.

"Easy to remember or hard to forget?"

"Uh uh it's my question." She started to ask where he got her Sociology paper, but assumed he must have gone back to the school looking for more clues or accurate emergency contact information. "Did you find the poison?"

"Yes."

"So I helped?"

"I didn't say where I found it."

"You mean it wasn't in the beer?"

"That was three questions. My turn again. Is your sister dead?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath and tried to word her question better. "Was the drug in the beer what made Rachel sick?"

"Yes and no. The mix of mood stabilizers and allergy medication, that Tommy put into the beer, before recapping it and slapping a pretty, orange date sticker on top, is what helped him to assault Rachel. It also helped you to wax poetic about my face."

Chris winced and smiled at the same time. "Snow cones…" She groaned.

House nodded. "The botulism in the recalled Taiwanese beer is what almost killed her. Well, the botulism and the idiot who decided to sell it to kids instead of disposing of it properly."

"Is she… are we going to be alright."

"You're not very good at this taking turns thing. Is your baby still alive?" He watched carefully as she took a shallow gasp. "You can't be that surprised. Legal records are sealed at eighteen, not medical."

The nurse came in with water and promptly left. The way she didn't speak or make eye contact gave Chris the impression that House wasn't very popular with the nurses.

"Yes, he is alive or he was when he was adopted. He could be anywhere now. Will you just tell me what's happening if I promise to tell you the whole story?"

"Story first."

"You know I'm very weak and sick. It's pretty cruel to make me talk about this right now." She considered throwing in a fake cough, but wasn't sure if she'd be able to stop.

"I'm a sadist."

"Dick." She took a sip of water and leaned back on the pillows, trying to get comfortable before telling her story.

"I was fifteen and Sarah was twelve. I was sneaking out of the house and she caught me. She threatened to rat me out if I didn't take her with me. So I did. We went to a party. It was lame. The guy I was meeting was making out with some other chick. So we left.

We were almost home, maybe a block away. I was mad and bitching about the stupid girl kissing the stupid guy I liked. I wasn't paying attention. There was a guy sitting on the back of a car talking on his phone. He never even looked at us… until we were right next to the car. Then he just puts the phone away. No goodbye, didn't hit a button, just drops it in his pocket.

I knew it was bad. I turned around and saw that there were three more guys behind us and another coming out of the alley. I didn't see anyone further ahead. I told Sarah to run home. I just tackled the guy with the phone. I knew I couldn't fight him, but I thought I could give her a chance.

The guy was pissed. He just started throwing me around until I landed face down in the alley. I was just staring at this wet newspaper and I couldn't read the words. I had a skirt on. It was worse for Sarah. They broke her leg getting her jeans off. There were a lot of them. I passed out and woke up in a hospital. "

"They impregnated you and killed your sister."

"No actually, I wasn't finished. We were fine. No, we were alive. We were getting all kinds of therapy and didn't have to go to school. The story rocked the neighborhood. We probably would have dealt, eventually, but after a couple months we still hadn't had our periods. I couldn't shake a stomach bug that several doctors suggested was actually a new eating disorder brought on by the trauma, and Sarah could barely stand up straight thanks to the weight of her new DD's.

Now we as a family are not lacking in that department," She motioned to her chest.

"I vaguely recall." House smirked as the image of her flimsy little dress flashed through his mind.

"You really are a creeper." She made a huge effort to match his smirk, but the result was feeble.

"Sarah was four foot ten though. It was freakish. Our cycles were about the same and, as you must be aware, puberty is a highly fertile time. They said we had a twenty-five to thirty percent chance of getting pregnant each month with one _partner_. Multiply that by… well way too much and there you go.

I refused to have an abortion. I knew I wasn't ready to raise a kid, but I wasn't going to kill one either. Mom said it was my decision. She was proud I think. Sarah, who still didn't get that I wasn't a stellar role model, also refused. Pregnancy is a lot harder at twelve than at fifteen.

Instead of being at home on bed rest, as suggested, she was at a park with her friends when she went into pre-term labor. Her friends ran for help, but of course they didn't have cell phones and didn't know the address or name of the park. Public signs don't last very long in our old neighborhood.

When the EMTs finally got to the park she was bleeding internally and there wasn't a lot that they could do. I don't know exactly what happened, because no one wanted to tell me then, and afterwards it doesn't really matter. They took the baby a few minutes after Sarah died in the ER. The baby was very sick but she made it. Her first set adoptive parents couldn't handle a sick baby, but we found her another, more prepared, family. They scheduled my C-section at thirty-eight weeks just to be careful and it was text book.

I had a substantial mental break and didn't go back to school for another year. When I came back from my mental vacation my mom went on hers. She hasn't been back since. I missed two school years total. We moved here to start over. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"How do you pronounce your name?"

"I don't." She took another drink. "Chris – tuh – line. My mom heard it on a shopping channel selling stemware. 'Genuine Crystalline only nineteen ninety-nine." A sad smile came to her face as she mimicked the way her mother told the story. "Of course she spelled it wrong so now instead of meaning faux crystal it means faux messiah."

"You're lucky you couldn't afford a catholic school."

She laughed and took a labored breath. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Oh you will definitely be sick." He hit the call button. "The good news is that we already started your treatment. The antitoxin should minimize your symptoms. We'll monitor you for a few days to be sure the treatment is working."

"What happens if it's not working?"

"Respiratory failure, pneumonia, paralysis. I'll send Rachel over to tell you about it when she's feeling better. "

"Is she going to be ok?"

"Yes. So will Tommy."

"Oh well two out of three ain't bad." She smiled weakly.

"I'll order something for the nausea. It'll knock you out for a while."

"Lovely."

She awoke several hours later, to find Dr. Chase was checking her chart.

"That was a very brave thing you did." He smiled at her.

"Feels pretty stupid at the moment."

"Are you feeling sick? Do you need a dish?"

"No. I'm good. When can I go home?"

"It's hard to tell, but we don't expect you'll get any worse now." He listened to her chest for a moment. "Take a deep breath for me."

She obliged. "When can I go back to school?"

"Once you're discharged you can return as you feel able. It may take a while to recover your strength. You shouldn't push it."

She nodded even though she knew she couldn't comply. All she knew how to do was push it.

"Are you feeling up to having visitors?"

"It won't matter." Her voice was hoarse from the small amount of talking they'd done. Chase handed her some water. "No one can make it."

"Actually Rachel's family has been asking after you. They'd like to stop in and I'm sure Rachel would like to see you when she wakes up."

"Oh…" Her voice trailed. "Yeah that would be ok."

"Good. I'll let them know. Do you need anything else right now?"

"Ice chips?"

"Of course and we've ordered some broth for your lunch. We'll see how that takes."

"Ok."

Chase shot her his killer smile before he floated out the door. Chris wondered if they only hired pretty doctors at this hospital on purpose. It wasn't a terrible idea. It certainly improved patient morale. She drifted to sleep imagining the interview process.

When she woke again the table on the other side of the room under the TV was spread with flowers, cards, and a large stuffed bear. Chris called the nurse, who helped her get out of bed, and then stood by the door while she used the restroom. She asked if she could walk the halls to ease her restlessness.

The nurse agreed to bring her a wheelchair. She wasn't supposed to stand on her own but she could roam the hall in the chair as long as she stayed on her floor. A cigarette break was still out of the question.

Chris adjusted her gown and ended up putting a blanket in her lap in hopes of not flashing anyone. She rolled to the little table and inspected her gifts. The flowers were from Rachel's parents and Plainsboro Baptist Church. There were cards from more of Rachel's extended family. What surprised her most was the note attached to the teddy bear's big red bow.

The small card was covered in girly signatures full of hearts, stars, and smiley faces. The inside read "Get well soon! *Big Hugs*, the Lady Wildcats". She examined the bear's beady, brown eyes and smiling face. She realized that his golden fur and red ribbon were no coincidence. They were Wildcat colors.

Chris ventured out of the room peering down both sides of the corridor. She wasn't sure where she was headed. She just needed to move around. Almost immediately a thin, pretty woman with perfect highlights rushed out of a room on the other side of the nurses' station.

"Christy Lynn? How are you feeling?"

"Ok." Chris froze as the woman approached her.

"Oh honey, you are so brave. We've all been praying for your recovery. Come on over here and meet Mr. McKenna."

Chris's chair had been commandeered before she could protest. Rachel's room held such a vast array of gift shop novelties that the overflow had to be placed on the window sills, and on top of the cabinets. Chris sat stunned as everyone burst into cheers and praises of her bravery and selflessness.

"This is Mr. McKenna, Rachel's father. That's Momaw and Pop-pop. I'm sure you know Jenna and Emily from school." Chris nodded and smiled as the family hugged her and Momaw kissed her cheek.

"Hello. Hi. Nice to meet you." She waved to Rachel and the girls from school not sure which was Jenna and which was Emily. "Hey."

She answered the questions she could. She was careful not to give any detail that Rachel or the doctors might not have shared. Every word earned her more praise. Nothing seemed to surprise them, and it made her wonder what they must have heard about her before meeting her. Finally, the nurse pointed out, that visiting hours had been over for half an hour, and they really needed to move the party along.

The family shuffled out, and then there were two.

"Sorry about that. I know they can be a lot. They're really worked up." Rachel apologized.

"They were really nice."

"Thank you." Rachel whispered. She began to cry as she held Chris's gaze.

"Oh don't do that." Chris waved her hand dismissing the girl's tears. "It's not a big deal. All I did was drink a beer."

Rachel shook her head. "You saved my life."

"The doctors saved your life. I just helped a little."

"I never even talked to you."

Chris shrugged. "We've got different circles… It's not a big deal."

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Press charges." Chris didn't have to think about the question. "I'll testify. Just don't let him get away with this. He's already going down for possession."

"Oh we're pressing charges. My dad has an awesome lawyer. And if all else fails, Tommy, my Tommy, can get the whole team to trash him."

"Perfect." Chris smiled.

"How'd you even know I was sick?"

"I saw the doctor up at the school looking for potential causes."

"Dr. Chase? OMG He's sooo hot." Rachel beamed.

"I know, right?" Chris nodded, and only smirked a little when Rachel spoke in text slang. "But it was Dr. House. I think Chase and another doctor were checking your house."

"There's more? Are they cute too?" Her eyes lit up.

"The one I met was. He's older but very…" Chris sucked in a breath trying to find the right word.

"Distinguished? Mysterious?"

"Yeah all of that and just…. Rowwwrrrr." Chris half growled half purred making Rachel laugh out loud.

"You two seem to be feeling better." Dr. Chase said walking into the room.

"We're even better now." Chris replied and both girls giggled.


	3. It's Not Stalking

TITLE: Chapter 3 It's not stalking.

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: PG 13

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: Chris gets discharged, but just can't stay away.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

The girls' friendship developed quickly during their hospital stay. They were united by their common enemy and interest in scoping out cute doctors, nurses, and orderlies. Even patients were subject to their speculation and giggles. Rachel proved to be more than a ditzy cheerleader, and Chris found the opportunity to dispel rumors of her extensive drug use and sexcapades.

Rachel was mesmerized by her new mysterious cool friend. Chris just enjoyed feeling like a high school kid for a change. She never said as much, but Rachel reminded her of her sister Sarah. She was naïve but smart. She was inherently good and assumed that most people were the same.

When Rachel was feeling better they roamed the hall in their matching wheelchairs. They even escaped the floor so Chris could smoke.

"That's so bad for you." Rachel told her.

"I know. I'll give it up when I graduate, maybe." They were next to some bushes along the main parking lot when Chris saw House walking out of the front doors. "That's him. That's doctor House."

"Who him?" Rachel pointed to a man carrying a briefcase.

"No! Don't point." Chris pulled her hand away. "The one in the motorcycle jacket."

"With the cane?"

"Yeah."

Rachel squinted at him. After a few seconds she nodded. "Ok. I can see it."

"Don't let the cane fool you. He's strong. He had to pull me out of the car and hold me up to get me inside."

"Did he put his arm around you?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah."

"Around your shoulders or your waist?"

"Waist. Why?"

"Cosmo says that means he likes you."

"I doubt Cosmo was referring to emergency medical assistance."

"Did he cop a feel?" Rachel grinned.

"No, he did not. He thought I was sixteen at the time."

"How old are you?" Rachel asked as they watched House get into his car.

"Seventeen." Chris lied, but knew she'd blown her cover.

"Really?" Rachel didn't believe her. "You seem older."

"No, I'm twenty. Don't tell everyone though."

"Of course not. Why are you still in high school though?"

"I was sick. My sister and I were both sick for a while." Chris held her breath. This was an awful lot of self-disclosure for one week.

"You have a sister?"

"She passed away." Chris hated this term, but she went with it for Rachel's sake. She knew how much it stressed out other people, particularly therapists, when she used 'keeled over', 'kicked the bucket', or just 'died'.

"Oh Chris I'm so sorry." Rachel leaned over and put both her arms around Chris in an awkward wheelchair hindered hug. Chris regretted not going with 'kicked the bucket'.

"As much as I'd like to see how this plays out, you two should probably get back to your rooms where they don't allow smoking" House's car had pulled up beside them. He'd seen them from the other side of the parking lot. He wasn't sure, or wasn't willing to admit, why he'd felt the need to come over and spoil their fun.

"Yeah yeah we're going." Chris took one more good drag and dropped her cigarette. "Nice to see you too." She wasn't sure if she smiled in spite of the awkward moment and the annoying doctor, or because of them.

House strolled into the building a little after eight in the morning. It was much earlier than he usually bothered to show up, but he wanted to see the healthier of his two patients, before she was discharged. He stopped a few steps from the room. Through the windows he could see an elderly man in the bed and a middle-aged woman, pacing the room while talking on a cell phone. He turned and headed for his office.

"Who discharged my patient?" House greeted his staff.

"You did. She was cleared to leave this morning, but they needed beds last night."Chase shrugged. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No."

House decided it was for the best. He didn't need to see her again. He dropped a full Styrofoam cup into the waste basket, and blue liquid spilled out onto the white plastic liner. Foreman and Chase looked at it and then at each other.

"Is that a snow cone?"

Chris sat in the clinic going over her biology notes and watching the hospital's main lobby through the glass walls. Almost an hour after Dr. House was scheduled to be there she watched him step off the elevator. She had put his name next to her appointment time on the sign-in sheet and insisted that she had to see him personally for her follow up.

"Chris Ramirez, exam room three." The nurse announced and handed House the file, before he could even sign in.

Chris barely had a chance to climb onto the exam table before House came in. He maintained his gruff, clinic duty demeanor. He wasn't ready to admit to himself that he was happy to see her, much less give her that impression. He would treat her like every other needy, annoying patient.

She looked like the girl he'd met under the bleachers again. She wore ripped and faded, black jeans and a thin, gray hoody. Her hair was in a messy knot, clipped to the back of her head and a ring of black eyeliner was the only makeup on her face. She was watching him, obviously trying to get a feel for his mood.

"You could have seen any of my lackeys." He told her in a gruff tone.

"Oh." Chris shrugged and smiled at him. "I thought I needed to see you."

That wasn't true. She'd been told to follow up with Chase. A nurse had shown her where the clinic was when she was discharging. The nurse was a big fan of the clinic and had explained how every doctor had to work there a few hours a week. When Chris had seen House's name on the log book she couldn't resist coming to see him one more time.

"How did you even know I'd be here?" House sat on the little round stool and rolled towards her.

"They keep the schedule sitting at the nurses' station. I just had to look over the desk."

"How are you feeling?" House started checking her reflexes.

"A little pissed off. I got fired and I have detention for the rest of the semester, to make up my absences."

"They fired you for missing a football game?"

"Oh no, this was my other job."

"Any physical symptoms?"

"Not really. I'm more tired than usual." She began to unzip her sweater. "It's nothing an extra cup of coffee can't fix."

"What are you doing?" House asked.

"I assume you need to listen to my chest." She let the fabric slip off her shoulders and hang at her elbows. Underneath she wore a green tank top with a picture of the comic book character Poison Ivy and the words "pick your poison" on the front. It seemed appropriate, under the circumstances.

"Now I have to look at it too?" House smirked and pressed the cold stethoscope against her skin. He noted that the green brought out the olive tones in her pale skin and made no pretense of not staring down her shirt. "Deep breath."

She took the breath and released it slowly. "You never came back."

"Back from where?"

"Back to see me, while I was in the hospital."

"I solved the case. You were healed. My work was done." House stated.

"Oh?" She made it sound like a question.

"Oh?" House repeated.

"It just seemed like you were going to come back."

"That's part of the bedside manner. It's on your bill."

"I don't think so." She shook her head. "You have a crappy bedside manner."

"You prefer Chase?"

"That's not really fair. It's like comparing apples and kumquats." She wondered what kumquats tasted like and if she'd just insulted him.

"Have you ever had a kumquat?" He asked, sensing her hesitation.

"No, but I like trying new things."

Could she really be hitting on him? He moved the stethoscope to her back."Will you shut up so I can hear?"

She took a few more deep breaths while he finished. "You should have come back."

"Why?"

"You seem… fun. I thought we could…."

"Are you asking me out?" He cut her off.

"Oh God no." She furrowed her brow a little and shook her head. "I just got fired. You're a doctor. I'm not buying _you_ dinner."

"Of course not." House looked at her file. "You seem to be healing right up. You're free to…"

"I was suggesting that you ask _me_ out." She cut him off.

House studied her face. Was she joking? Could Wilson have put her up to this? "I don't date patients."

"I'm busy tonight anyway. Tomorrow I won't be your patient." She zipped her sweater.

"I was being nice. You're not my type." He wasn't counting hookers. Although, she would have been just his type twenty years ago.

"Ok." Her voice was calm as she stood to leave.

"Just ok? I'm rejecting you here."

"Should I argue? Beg? I think I'll survive." She moved toward the door.

"Why ask if you don't care?" House followed her.

"Why do you care if I care or not?"

"It doesn't make sense."

"Ego much?" She grinned.

"You sat in the waiting room for over an hour."

"How shall I go on? Doctuh House will not escort me to the Sizzler." She said in a monotone southern drawl and draped her hand over her forehead. "There, do you feel better now?"

"Much."

"Can I go now, or will you just keep following me?"

"Don't come back unless you're dying." He smiled and wondered if he should have asked her out.

She stepped out of the door and then right back in, as a little girl rushed by with a wheelchair followed by a security guard yelling at her. The guard caught up to the girl a few feet away from them and House and Chris watched as he tried to take the chair back from her. The girl was getting more and more frustrated, and finally she made a wailing unintelligible noise.

The room went silent and everyone in the waiting room looked up to see what would happen next. The guard ran his hand through his hair, as he explained that the chair wasn't a toy. The girl looked like she was about to cry, and made another noise. It was calmer but there were still no real words.

"She can't hear you." House said, scowling at the guard. He grabbed a pad and pen from the nurse's desk, and turned around to see Chris making what appeared to be gang signs.

"What's up?" Chris mouthed slowly, and repeated the gesture with a slightly different finger placement.

The girl unleashed a flurry of hand movements and Chris tried to follow them.

"Um parent? No mom…mooom?" Chris exaggerated the movement of her lips and the girl nodded and repeated her sentence a little slower. "Her mom is… in a car." Chris told House, or the guard, or anyone really.

"Where?" House asked and instructed.

Chris started to wave her index finger, but the girl was already pointing out the door and tugging at the wheel chair.

"Someone should probably follow her." House told the nurses. The older nurse nodded to a younger blonde, who went with the guard and the little girl.

A few people were still watching as the older woman thanked Chris. Chris's eyes darted around the room and she barely faked a smile. When the nurse asked if she could stay until a translator came down, Chris looked like she'd asked her for a kidney.

"I don't know that much. I … I might just confuse her."

"She's at least eight. She can write." House flopped the pen and paper down on the desk.

Chris didn't wait to see if the nurse accepted this. She was already inching towards the door and picking up speed the closer she got. House followed her into the mostly empty lobby.

"Where did you learn sign language?" He called after her.

She turned her face toward him but kept her body aimed at the door. "School."

"Public school?"

"Yeah, well they canceled it after the first six weeks and we all had to take French, but I kept the book." She rambled when she was uncomfortable. "It's online too. It's hard to tell if you're getting it exactly right, but I can still do some and…"

"You speak French too?" He was smiling at her.

"Oui." She nodded.

"D'autres langues?" His French was rusty but he was pretty sure that meant 'Other languages?' or 'sleeping languages?' She'd probably get the point.

"I can cuss in at least eight."

"Anale seks met condoom?" House winked.

"Is that German?" She laughed and her cheeks turned a soft pink.

"Dutch."

"I don't know how to say 'You should have taken me to the Sizzler.' in either, so I guess you'll never know." She laughed again and walked away. She managed to resist looking over her shoulder, but if she had, she would have seen him watching her until she was out the door.

Chris was standing by her locker right after the lunch bell rang. It was her short day and she had some time to kill, before catching her bus. She saw Rachel and a group of other girls heading toward the cafeteria. Rachel broke from the pack and approached her.

"Hey what do you do after school on Tuesday and Thursday?"

"Um nothing lately, but I'm looking for a job."

"We should be candy stripers."

"Why?" What Chris meant was, why her and not one of Rachel's cool friends.

"They did save our lives. We should give something back."

"Didn't your dad write them a huge check?" Chris pointed out. "Why do you really want to do this?"

"My dad says I have to get a job or volunteer somewhere until I graduate." Rachel admitted. "No job is going to work around practice and games and prom."

Chris nodded. "True. I wish I could. I really need another job though. I can't give up that kind of time for free. You should do it though."

"I don't want to go alone."

"Maybe Dr. Chase will keep you company." Chris smiled and shut her locker. "Seriously, I know it would be more fun with me there, everything is, but you can handle this alone."

"Yeah, I know." Rachel scrunched her nose. "Do you think I'll have to clean up puke?"

"Na, they'll probably have you taking balloons to kids or folding laundry."

A couple days later, Chris caught Rachel in-between classes.

"Hey, do you still want to volunteer?"

"Yeah, I was going to take my application up there after school."

"Can I still tag along?"

"Yeah that would be great, but what changed your mind?" Rachel furrowed her brow.

"I had a meeting with Mrs. Harmon. She said it would look really good on college applications. If it helps me get into a decent school it's worth as much as I'd make flipping burgers."

"Oh Chris, this is going to be so fun." Rachel's face lit up. She was more excited to know that Chris was considering going to college than anything else.

"Don't oversell it. We're still going to be hanging out at a hospital."

They filled out the necessary paper work and cited their life changing experience under Dr. House's care as a main motivator for wanting to give something back. They were accepted almost immediately. Their first task, as official candy stripers, was to decorate the pediatrics wing, for Halloween. They were also informed that there would be a Halloween party at the end of the month and that volunteers were highly encouraged to attend.

Rachel started working in the gift shop the next week. Chris was assigned to the book cart. They didn't see each other as much as they had expected, but still had plenty of time to compare stories and cute doctor sightings.


	4. Until You Buy Night Vision Goggles

TITLE: Chapter 3.5 Until You Buy Night Vision Goggles.

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris (OC) suggested

RATING: PG

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: House finds out Chris is volunteering at Princeton Plainsboro.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

House stood in front of the white board waving a dry erase marker as he spoke. Their first diagnosis had been wrong and the patient was getting worse. They were getting nowhere fast, as Forman suggested an autoimmune disease that House had ruled out on day one.

"Do an…" House stopped, distracted by something in the hall. It was the hot pink T-shirt that first drew his eyes, but he was certain he recognized the girl pushing the cart. His head tilted as his eyes followed her down the hall. He moved to follow her just as she rounded the corner.

"Do a what?" Thirteen asked.

"LP" House replied, as he left the room.

He caught up to Chris as she was stepping out of an office and studying a newspaper in her hand.

"Are you stalking me?" He could just make out the word "Twisted" above the red and white striped apron she wore.

"Currently, I'm delivering Mrs. Charleston's newspaper. What do you think that is, if it's not a four?" She pointed to a room number written on a post-it note, stuck to the paper.

"I work here." House overpronounced each word.

"I volunteer here." She matched his tone. "It was Rachel's idea."

"Is she stalking me too?"

"We thought it might be nice to give something back to the hospital that saved our lives. She also thought we needed to wear pink to match the uniforms." Chris tugged at the strap of her apron. "This is not pink."

"So you've been assimilated?"

"Pretty much, I'm just lucky there's not a spot open on the cheerleading squad." She grimaced. "I think she's hoping it will turn out like _The Blind Side_."

"Good for you."

She shrugged at him and turned back to the undelivered paper. "It can't be a one because there aren't patient rooms on one."

"It's an 'H'. It's on the new wing."

"Oh." She scrutinized the digit and frowned. She had to make it look like she hadn't known that all along. "Well shit. I'm on the wrong side of the building. I'll see you around."

He moved to the side, to let the cart pass by. She held eye contact just a tad longer than normal as she pushed it past him. A giddy grin erupted across her lips as soon as her back was to him.

"Have you seen the new candy stripers?" House burst into Wilson's office.

"Cuddy mentioned her surprise, when two of _your _patients wanted to come back and volunteer. Are you paying them?" Wilson barely looked up from his work, he was so accustomed to House barging in unannounced.

"She's stalking me."

"The blonde or the brunette?" Wilson's brows arched.

"Brunette. The one that got herself drugged."

"If she is candy striping just to be near you, clearly she gave herself botulism just to have an excuse to call." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Maybe?" House's tone was contemplative.

Wilson laughed. "You would have a lot in common with a teenager, but I was kidding."

"She's almost twenty-one."

"What?" Wilson looked up from his paperwork. He'd known House had been oddly interested in the girl's case, but the details had never come up.

"She missed two years of school."

"Was she stalking geriatrics during that time?"

"She had a mental break, after a violent attack and the death of a family member." Of course, House didn't even consider patient confidentiality, before revealing Chris's deepest darkest secrets.

"If she is stalking you, and I'm not saying I believe you, Daddy issues could be the reason."

"It wasn't her father."

"Grandfather?" Wilson chuckled to himself.

"You laugh now. It's your cat she'll be boiling."

"You thought she was off limits. You found out she's not. You don't have to have an excuse to be interested in her."

"She's twenty. How does she even know who Twisted Sister is?" House deflected.

"Damn that ITunes." Wilson smirked.

Chris walked at a leisurely pace across the grounds, looking for a shaded bench or table to eat lunch at. Her hair was damp and she wasn't wearing makeup. She'd found that if she timed it right, she could shower in the nurses locker room without being noticed. This was just one of the many perks, she was discovering about her new gig.

As she walked she heard the electric buzz of a toy car. She saw it weaving through the annoyed crowd, and recognized the miniature, black monster truck. House had been circling it around the lobby last week. At first she'd thought he must be really good at his job, to get away with that kind of crap, but she'd heard rumors, that he had slept with his boss. That probably helped a lot.

She heard the toy zoom behind her, but when she looked back it was gone again. She turned in a full circle, this time looking for House. She couldn't see him either, so she kept walking. When she heard it again, the car was moving slower and she was pretty sure it was following her. She stayed her course, towards her chosen picnic table, until it bumped into the back of her foot.

"Really?" She asked the little truck as she spun around to stare it down.

It backed up. Once more, she looked around for House. As she examined every innocent bystander on the lawn, it occurred to her that he could have been maneuvering the truck from somewhere in the building. Meanwhile, it did a quick circle around her feet, and then stopped in front of her again. She tried not to laugh.

Should she call him and make a joke about his _little toy_? She could pick it up and take out the batteries. Would that be cruel, because of his leg? He couldn't have been that far away, since the remote control still worked. Finally she reached into her backpack and pulled out a pack of Sweet Tarts. Careful not to let him see them, she dropped the candy into the bed of the truck. He would have to reveal himself, or steer the truck to wherever he was, in order to find out what she'd given him.

The truck followed behind her as she found a table, but it didn't interfere when she went to sit down. Just to be safe she sat on the table instead of the bench. She pulled out a sack lunch and one of those free, local classified magazines. She pretended to scan the listings, but she was really just wondering what he would do next.

Then she saw him coming down the wide, paved path. Of course, he timed it just right, so she still wasn't sure where he'd been hiding. For the first time since she'd set her eye on him, she wondered what the hell she was doing. He was twice her age, sexist, curmudgeonly, and totally unattainable. Unattainable, yes, that was the key to a crush for her. She had no time for a relationship, but as she watched from behind her paper she could almost imagine making time for him.

You wouldn't think a person could strut with a cane, but he did. He swaggered towards her with an air of confidence that most men with two good legs couldn't pull off. Maybe those men didn't need to. That level of cockiness should have been a turn off, but anyone who's ever been to high school or seen a James Bond movie knows it usually isn't.

The light bounced off the silver in his beard, making it shimmer and the sun's unforgiving position made his hair seem thinner, and the lines on his face deeper than she remembered. All of this meant nothing when he caught her eye and a playful smirk broke through his cloudy demeanor. He could have been Casanova or Quasimodo and that smile would still have made her pulse quicken.

When he reached the table, he sat on the concrete bench next to her feet. He silently noted her damp hair, and the classified ads in her hands, before bidding the toy truck towards him.

"Nice wheels." She grinned. "It's good to see you're not compensating for anything."

"How'd you know I was driving?"

"Who else is that obnoxious?" She shrugged. "I also saw you up-skirting your…boss in the lobby on Friday." She'd started to say 'ex' instead of 'boss', but was glad she didn't. She had a feeling it was still a touchy subject.

He didn't react, but he assumed by her pause that she had been informed about the short-lived, painful romance he'd shared with Cuddy. He reached into the truck bed and pulled out the roll of Sweet Tarts.

"Sweet."

"And tart." She nodded behind her paper and read the same ad for the third time. "You should feel honored. I'm babysitting tonight, and I was going to bribe the kids with those."

"Who's T. Jackson?" House asked.

"Hmmm?" She closed the magazine and folded it in her lap. House was looking at the paper sack next to her on the table. She picked it up and read the name written in green marker. "I don't know, just a kid who doesn't eat their lunch."

"Do you steal all your meals or just lunch?"

"I prefer to think of it as recycling. It's very green. I mean, I don't dig in the trash or anything. You're no better. According to the cafeteria staff you haven't paid for your own lunch in years"

"You asked the lunch ladies about me?"

"I don't have to ask. Someone in this place is always talking about you, and it's usually not good." She shook her head and opened T. Jackson's lunch.

"No press is bad press." He shrugged.

"They say that you're either blackmailing Wilson or you're life partners. Clearly he's the boy since he always has to pay."

"Wilson is definitely the bottom." His voice was serious, but a twinkle in his eye gave him away.

For just a moment, she wondered if he wasn't kidding and then she laughed. "Now I can't wait for the night vision goggles to come in."

House raised his brows in response and she laughed again before turning back to her loot. The sack contained small bag of pretzels, two pinwheel marshmallow cookies, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a tiny box of apple juice, which she lined up on the table between them.

"This is why T. Jackson doesn't eat his lunch."

"Because you stole it?" House asked as he took one of the cookies.

"It's all dry, or salty, or gooey, with hardly anything to drink." She took a bite of the sandwich and made a face. "Also, peach jelly was not intended to go with peanut butter. I'm thinking single dad. Mom is either recently out of the picture, or Mr. Jackson is really oblivious, or it could be even worse. This could be an improvement on his past lunch packing skills."

"Maybe T has an eating disorder."

"That would probably make T a she." She considered it.

"Are you saying only girls have eating disorders?" House asked.

"No, but it is more likely. Girls are taught it's cute when we don't eat. A guy who is hiding anorexia would not leave his uneaten lunch sitting on a table. A girl might, especially if she's not really anorexic, but toying with the idea, for attention or skinny jeans." She grabbed the other cookie and took a big bite.

"You were cuter before you ate that." He told her as she chewed the sticky, chocolate mess.

Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, when she tried not to smile or laugh with her mouth full. She picked up the remote control to the truck to redirect his attention. After she swallowed she asked "Can I take her for a spin?"

"You break you buy it." House nodded.

Chris eased the truck away from his feet and around the tree next to them. She tested the power and steering for a while, before crunching the toy triumphantly over a small branch on the ground.

"Looking for another job?" House asked.

"Why? You need a _House_ sitter?" She grinned. It was too easy, but she couldn't resist.

"How many jobs do you have?"

"Besides full-time school and now volunteering? I babysit and house sit sporadically. I throw papers on

Sundays, but that's just for this month. I dog sit on weekends for a guy whose wife lives in New York, and I work at the stadium whenever there's an event." She didn't mention having to be home at least once every twenty-four hours to check on her mom, or that caring for her should have been a full-time job.

"Your mom doesn't work?"

"No." Her eyes followed the truck.

"Have you ever considered getting one, full-time job?"

"It's hard to work around high school and the bus schedule. I do all right though. I don't have to pay taxes on most of it, and I've gotten a ton of experience, that I couldn't get flipping burgers. Basically if

it's legal and doesn't require a degree, I've done it."

"Been a stripper?" He asked.

"No, sorry." She shook her head.

"It's legal."

"C-section." She shrugged. There was no need to mention her stage fright too.

"They have makeup for that. I know lots of strippers with two or three kids." He pressed for some readable reaction. Would stripping violate some moral code for her? Was she just insecure about her body? Even under her, size too large, Blondie T-shirt he could tell she had nothing to be insecure about, but girls her age weren't rational about these things.

"Well, I'm glad I have the option, if I ever get that desperate." She grinned.

House was frowning past her. He abruptly leaned over and lay across the concrete bench, so that anyone passing by might not recognize him.

"What are you doing?" She was startled that he was suddenly so close to her. His head was almost touching her boot, even though she was wearing jeans, it felt oddly intimate.

"Hiding."

"Why?"

"Do you see the guy in the gray suit?"

"The one feeding pigeons?" There were at least five men in gray suits, in her line of sight.

"The one that's pissed off."

She saw him, not only was the man bristling with anger, he was marching right towards them. "He's coming over here." She warned House.

"Hence the hiding."

"Why is he mad at you?" Chris wondered if she should leave. Had he sought her out to be a witness when the cops asked what happened next?

"He thinks I stole his son's birthday present."

"Why does he think that?"

"Because I did."

"You stole a kids present? That's awful!"

"I didn't know it was for his kid. I saw it on a shelf, in the box, untouched and thought he was a collector. It's a limited edition Bone Basher replica, with the skull mud flaps and crossbones roll bars. It was born to ride! I couldn't just leave it there." His voice grew more and more excited as he spoke.

She looked down at the remote control in her hands and groaned when she saw the tiny skull and crossbones. She felt like she was babysitting already as she shook her head and scowled at him. Honestly, she found his little outburst adorable, but she couldn't reinforce this sort of behavior with even the slightest smile. She started to steer the truck back towards them.

"I was going to give it back, but for some reason he's started locking his office."

"Where's the charger?" She asked in her authoritative voice.

"My office." His voice was perfectly even. He didn't know what tipped her off, but she was still looking down at him in accusation. He rolled his eyes. "Wilson's office."

She hopped off the table and picked up the toy. Meeting the man in the gray suit a few feet away, she handed him the truck and pointed out that it was still in perfect condition, except for a little dirt on the wheels. She got his office number and promised the charger would be returned before the end of the day.

She returned to House, who was still hunkered under the table, even though he'd heard the man say his name clearly several times, and could see him walking away. As she gathered her things, she explained that she would be calling the man that afternoon. If House hadn't returned the charger by then, she would be forced to involve Wilson. The choice was up to House.

"Where are you going?" He asked, as he sat up and made sure the coast was clear.

"I'm leaving, mostly because I have to catch a bus, but partially because you're an ass." A hint of the smile she was suppressing showed.

That was all the encouragement House needed. As Chris reached across the table for the offensive peanut butter sandwich, House reached for her ass and gave it a gentle squeeze. She gasped and swung at him. It was a reflex. She caught herself just before her fist made contact, but not soon enough. A trickle of blood immediately flowed from a fresh cut in his lip.

House pressed his fingers to his lip stunned. He'd expected he might get punched that day, but not by her. He didn't know if he was more surprised or impressed. "You punched me?" As the confusion faded a slight grin appeared on his face.

"Barely. You wouldn't be smiling if I'd really punched you." Why did she say that? That just made her sound more hostile. She put her hands on her hips, then folded them in front of her chest, then let them drop to her sides. What was wrong with her?

"You punched me." He said again, looking at the small amount of blood on his fingers and enjoying her obvious discomfort.

"You grabbed my ass."

"You were flirting with me." His smile made the cut on his lip look worse than it was.

"We were talking. You can't just grab people's asses. You have to work up to that with a hug, a kiss, at least a compliment. You can't just go from 'I steal toys from tiny children' to third base."

"That wasn't third base." He was grinning.

"It's third base adjacent." She thought the bloody lip gave his face a weird, sexy _Fight Club_ look. What sort of behavior would she be reinforcing if she kissed him? "Bye House."

He just nodded and watched as she walked away.


	5. Haunting House

TITLE: Chapter 4: Haunting House

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: light House/Chris

RATING: PG

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Halloween party.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK:

"I'm going to wash it off." Chris whined. "People will get the costume without the makeup."

"Don't you dare!" Rachel jumped in between her friend and the door to her bedroom's attached bathroom. "It looks sooo good."

Rachel had spent hours watching webisodes and tutorials on how to achieve a perfect no-makeup, makeup look and exaggerated plump lips. With six different kinds of concealer and highlighter, three shades of nude lip liner, and a pint of liquid eyeliner she had transformed Chris into a pretty convincing Angelina Jolie look-alike. She was beyond proud of herself.

"It looks a little weird." Chris didn't want to hurt her friend's feelings.

"If I didn't know you, I'd think you had your lips done." Rachel was holding up her phone to get a picture.

"That's not a good thing."

"It is when you're dressed like that."

Chris turned back to the mirror. She'd thought this was going to be simple understated costume, when she invested $1.50 on short, brown hiking shorts, with an ink stain on the right pocket. She wore a black tank top with her usual backpack, and her black hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. She had spent far too much time fashioning wrist bands and gun harnesses out of electrical tape. She'd even cut out cardboard guns and knives and attached them to the tape circling her thighs.

"You can't even tell you're wearing makeup." Rachel pressed.

"Yes you can."

"Ok the fake lashes and liner are obvious, but it's a comic book character."

"Video game." Chris corrected her.

"Whatever, you're going to make Dr. House wet himself." Rachel was pulling on the red boots that came with her Supergirl costume.

"I doubt he's going to be at a kid's party and I hope he's not _that_ old." Chris made a face and stuck out her tongue at Rachel, in the mirror.

Rachel laughed. "It's not just a kid's party. The whole hospital is invited."

"I thought it was on the Ped's wing." Chris remembered hearing about the party from a pediatric nurse, on the pediatrics floor. Now that she thought about it, she didn't remember her saying where the party would be.

"It's in the lobby. It would be pretty crappy for the kids, who are too sick to dress up or eat candy, if it was right outside their rooms." Rachel stood beside her in front of the mirror. "We look _hot_!"

Rachel smoothed her hands over the short, red skirt. Her perfectly straight blonde hair completed the look even before she added the red headband. They had found sparkly Superman S stickers to put on everything that wasn't part of the licensed costume. It gave a very detailed effect.

Chris looked at the mirror and frowned. Normally, she didn't bother comparing herself to the perfect creature beside her. It wasn't that she thought of herself as ugly. She knew, based on what she saw in the media, that she was pretty. She knew that men would be attracted to her, even when she didn't have Angelina's exaggerated pout painted on. She looked like her mom. Rachel said she looked like a Kardashian without the spray tan. Except for the scars and a few stretch marks there wasn't anything wrong with her body.

The problem was, that she had learned from TV and fairy tales, that life should be easy for pretty girls. They didn't get raped or go crazy. Because her life had not been easy, she just assumed either she wasn't that pretty, or there was some other flaw, something worse than being ugly, that set her apart from the really pretty girls.

Chris arched her back. "Where is the computer graphics department when I need them?" She pulled up on her bra straps until her breast pointed toward the ceiling.

"Oh wahhh!" Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm faking a b-cup over here. Do they look even?"

"Perfect. Even Tommy won't be able to tell."

They were both assigned offices to wait in, for trick-or-treaters. They had buckets of stickers, pencils, and toys to hand out. Candy was limited to the refreshment table, to make it easier to monitor what patients were eating. After the trick-or-treating was over they helped with games. A performer was doing magic tricks and Chris was herding a group of young boys away from the exits.

House was at work much later than he liked, and didn't expect to leave any time soon. He was no closer to curing his current patient, than the day she was admitted; now her kidneys were failing. He was walking the halls restlessly. For a moment he thought he was losing it, as Marilyn Monroe and the Green M & M walked past. Wilson was wearing a tan fishing hat and plaid shirt, and greeted House as he stepped off the elevator.

"What are you supposed to be?" House asked.

Wilson held a small portion of fake picket fence over his mouth. "Wilson."

House laughed.

"What are you doing at one of these things?"

"Wrong floor, I'll be leaving now." House reached out for the elevator button but didn't press it.

"What?" Wilson followed his gaze to the front of the lobby, where a young Tomb Raider stood between any wayward children and the front doors. "Well she's certainly done her research." He just grinned to himself, when House turned away from the elevators and took a halfhearted interest in the refreshment table.

On the other side of the room, Chris didn't mind being sent to the corner to run interference. Dads and male staff had been chatting her up all night. She wished desperately that she had brought a sweater, costume or not. She wasn't used to having this much attention directed at her, especially positive attention. Catcalls and lewd gestures she could handle, but polite conversation and thinly veiled flirting made her skin crawl.

Rachel came running up, her hair and skirt bouncing with each step. "You're going to win the costume contest." She beamed.

"What? I thought that was just for the kids."

"No way. They'd have to give something to every kid here, or someone would feel left out."

"That's why it's called a contest, and not just free stuff."

"Here." Rachel was wielding a lip-gloss wand at her. "You better get over there, in case they call you first." She said, dotting the shimmery goop in the center of Chris's lower lip.

"You go up there." Chris grumbled.

Rachel shook her head. "I'm not Lara Croft."

"And now Dr. Cuddy is going to announce the costume contest winners." The magician announced.

Chris groaned. Rachel nudged her a few times until she made her way to edge of the stage. She was a little afraid she would throw up. She couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was staring at her. As Dr. Cuddy called "Lara Croft" to the stage, for most accurate costume, she realized it wasn't just a feeling anymore. Everyone _was _staring at her.

She accepted her award and a $20 Taco Bell gift card and scurried off the stage. The only reason she didn't run was to avoid even more attention. She lingered near the stairs, just long enough to be sure no one was watching her now. She backed up the first few steps with her eyes on the crowd and then turned and ran until she reached the next floor.

There were hand sanitizer dispensers posted all over the hospital. Chris ran her hand under the first one that she saw and rubbed the foam over her face, smearing her painted-on cheek bones. She took the elevator to the top floor and another short stairwell to the roof. She was in luck. The door was propped open with a rock. In the night air, she took a breath and leaned against the ledge. Just after she dug her cigarettes out of her bag and lit one, the door opened.

"You're not supposed to smoke up here." House told her. He told himself he'd followed her just to get a better look at that outfit.

"Well I wasn't going to do it down there. The kids who didn't cause their own cancer might see me." She pointed to the parking lot.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"Fine, why wouldn't I be?" Her voice was sharper than she intended.

"You ran out of there like a vegan at a chili cook-off."

"Stage fright isn't rare enough for your tastes, is it?"

"People who don't like attention don't dress like that." House pointed out. It wasn't actually that revealing. The shorts definitely weren't as short as Angelina's, or maybe it just seemed that way, because the legs weren't as long. There was just something universally hot about a woman with weapons strapped to her thighs.

"I wouldn't wear it to a comic book convention, but I didn't think it would have such mass appeal here."

"Most doctors were once geeks." House explained.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I guess next year I'll wear a muumuu or something." She smiled a little. She wanted to ask if he had been a geek or if he still was.

"It won't matter." House told her.

"Doctors like muumuus too? Is that why they make those gowns so ridiculous?" She liked this. It felt comfortable, hiding behind witty banter.

He was looking out over the parking lot. "You're a beautiful girl. People will always find a reason to look at you. You only notice it when you're dressed like that."

There he went, ruining the fun and throwing her off her game. He might act like he doesn't notice anyone else on the planet, but he never missed a beat. Then he offers up some deep, awkward insight when it's the last thing she expected, and probably just because it _is_ the last thing she expected. How was she supposed to respond to that?

"You think I'm beautiful?" Her voice was soft and earnest. She decided to focus on the compliment.

"You know you're beautiful." He looked at the ground.

Chris still didn't know what to say, but she stepped towards him. When he met her gaze she felt her heart thud in her chest. She let the cigarette drop from her fingers. He stepped on it with his sneaker, moving ever closer. She was hyper aware of her barely parted lips and took a deep breath as she looked into his big blue eyes.

When House looked back at her his usual coolness had been replaced with something else. Was it bashfulness, bravery, desire, or all three? She wondered if he could be as nervous as she was and leaned towards him just enough to bolster his courage. He tilted his head toward hers, and then the shrill beep of his pager pierced the silence.

They both jumped. The moment was gone. House looked at the tiny display and cursed.

"Maybe next time." He winked at her and turned to leave. He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder. "Happy Birthday."

Chris stood in front of the third floor vending machine pressing buttons and mumbling curses under her breath. Chase walked into the little corridor where the machines were housed.

"Are they giving you trouble?" He asked.

"It took both my quarters, but it will only give one back." She hit the coin return again.

"I'll show you the trick, but you can't tell anyone." He smiled and dropped two quarters into the machine. "What's your choice?"

"Root beer."

"Same as House." Chase noted. He pressed the button and grinned proudly as three cans of root beer rolled out. He picked them up and handed all three to her.

"How much did you put in there?"

"It was just seventy-five cents, including your quarter. It's a computer glitch. It only works on root beer and Sprite."

"What would you have done if I'd said Coke?"

"I knew it had to be one of those, or it wouldn't have taken your quarter."

"Tricky. You've been working with Dr. House too long haven't you?"

"Entirely too long, and how long have you been working here?" He looked at her name tag, clipped over the word "Cowabunga" on her teal blue Ninja Turtles t-shirt.

House watched from behind a pillar as his employee chatted up their former patient. He could recognize Chase's flirting body language a mile away. He could almost hear his charming, Australian accent telling a far-fetched story. What he couldn't see was how Chris was responding, until he saw her body shake with laughter.

"Can I buy you a drink sometime?" Chase asked leaning towards her.

"Uh, you just bought me two." Chris pointed out.

"I meant a real drink, somewhere outside the hospital, perhaps?"

Chris barely stifled a laugh. "I don't really drink. I just turned twenty-one, actually."

"Coffee then?"

"Are you hitting on me?" Chris laughed and covered her mouth. She didn't want to be rude, but she couldn't fathom why a guy like Dr. Chase would be asking her out. Surely he just wanted to get laid, but he was a hot doctor with an accent. He could score a date anywhere. She couldn't wait to tell Rachel.

"Why is that funny?" Chase mistook her amusement for interest.

"It's not, really." She composed herself as best she could. "I'm just not… thank you though. I'm just really busy… with school and things… right now."

"No problem." Chase looked confused more than hurt.

Chris just nodded and tried to keep a straight face as she walked away.

"Congratulations!" House bellowed as he walked into the office the next morning. His team sat looking over files. They all looked at him expecting a crude, insulting joke. He narrowed his gaze to Chase. "I assume this means you've slept with every nurse in the building. That's quite an achievement"

The rest of the team looked from House to Chase. Chase looked as confused as any of them.

"Where will you turn when you run out of candy stripers?" House poured himself a cup of coffee.

Realization flashed across Chase's face for just a second, but he didn't speak. He wondered how House knew. Had she told him? Why would she tell House? He hadn't actually done anything. They'd only talked.

Thirteen and Foreman were intrigued now.

"Did you take her somewhere nice?" House asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Chase finally said. He wanted to know what House knew, before he admitted anything.

"You're denying it?" House asked. "Either you feel guilty or … she turned you down." A wry smile erupted on his face. Chase got rejected and Chris wasn't just scamming single doctors. If House were a man that believed in luck, he might have gone out and bought a lottery ticket.

Chase sighed.

"Are we talking about Rachel or Chris?" Thirteen asked.

"Christaline." House couldn't take the smirk off his face.

"Why are we talking about my sex life?" Chase asked.

"You hit on a patient?" Foreman asked.

"I asked her out. She declined. Can we drop it now?"

"That's awesome." Thirteen laughed.

"She's in high school." Foreman pointed out.

"Wait, let her talk." House turned to Thirteen. "Awesome? Are you going to ask her out too? If you do I'll fire Chase and give you his salary."


	6. Theories

TITLE: Chapter 5: Theories

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris suggested

RATING: PG-13ish

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: House and Chris have the same taste in soaps. The cheerleading squad helps the hospital raise money.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

The cafeteria was all but deserted. It was well after the lunch rush, and the few desperate souls that came for dinner wouldn't start showing up for hours. Chris sat at a booth with a cart, piled full of boxes, beside her. On the table, she had several stacks of STD pamphlets, a rubber stamp, and an ink pad.

"What are you doing in here?" House asked, walking up with a tray.

"Trying to figure how I got this rash." She said sarcastically, as she stamped a pamphlet and moved it to the next stack.

"You want me to give it a look?" He offered.

"Maybe later," She grinned. "What are _you_ doing in here?"

"Cuddy usually looks here first, so I assume she's already been here twice." He set his tray across from her. "Do you mind if I change the channel?" He asked, already moving towards the TV mounted on the wall.

"Um yeah, actually I do. My stories are coming on."

"So are mine, go watch the TV in my office." He pressed the channel button with his cane and found that the TV was already set to the right station. "You watch Prescription Passion?"

"I used to watch it with my mom. It's been years though, I'm still catching up."

"What's there to catch?" House sat down across from her, as the show started.

"Ok, there." Chris pointed to the screen with the stamp. "What is Harriet doing with Lebron?"

"That's not Lebron. It's Victor, trapped in Lebron's body." House took a bite of his sandwich.

"Oh of course! That makes so much sense now." Chris stole a French fry while she didn't think House was looking. "Does Harriet even know?"

"No." House shook his head, with an evil grin.

"Wow." They watched quietly until the next commercial break, and then Chris asked. "So did Sierra and Phoenix ever get together?"

"No way, she's with Carter."

"Carter? He framed her for arson." She eyed his fries as she spoke.

"She was stealing from him and sleeping with his sister." He turned the plate so that the fries were closest to her.

"He was sleeping with _her_ sister too." Chris took another fry and gestured with it as she spoke. "She was the only one in the hospital that could keep up with him, and he just couldn't take it."

"He realized that after the volcano erupted." House nodded.

"Volcano? Aren't they supposed to be in New England?"

"It's Passion. You're expecting way too much continuity."

She laughed. "Right, I still can't believe she got with Carter."

"What's so wrong with Carter?" House asked. Carter happened to be one of his favorite characters.

"What's not wrong with him? He's an evil, rude, compulsive liar. Ever since he pushed Lana off that bridge, I just can't forgive him." She reached for his cup, and paused to see if he would protest.

"You're getting me a refill." He gave a single nod. "Lana was useless. She couldn't even dial a phone to save her life."

"Well yeah, but does that mean she deserved to die?" She sipped his lemonade.

"On this show it does." He nodded.

"Ok fine, but I still don't like Carter." She wrapped a rubber band around her stack of pamphlets, and started a new one.

"He found Geneva when she was trapped on the island."

"She never would have been trapped if he hadn't sabotaged her first solo flight."

"He's about to find the VanNewtonshireburg Diamond." House said, and laughed a little when her jaw dropped.

"WHAT? They still haven't found the diamond? He can't get it. Cornelius needs it for the laser!" Chris flapped a bi-lingual herpes pamphlet at him, in her excitement.

"HOUSE," Dr. Cuddy's voice boomed through the cafeteria.

His eyes got really big and he covered his mouth with his fingers, in mock horror. "I think I'm in trouble."

Cuddy stomped over to them, her heels clacking on the linoleum. "Please tell me, that you did not stab your patient in the genitals."

"I did not stab my patient in the genitals." House repeated.

"My office! Now!" Cuddy pointed.

"Let me know if they find the diamond." House pushed his tray towards Chris and stood to leave.

Cuddy turned to her. "I'm sorry you had to hear that Ms." She read her volunteer badge. "Ramirez."

"I didn't hear a thing." Chris shook her head.

"Good." Cuddy followed House out of the cafeteria.

As House approached the parking lot, he could see traffic piled up around the side entrance. He was expecting some accident or catastrophe. Instead, he was greeted by a young blonde, in cut off shorts, waving a poster board that advertised $30 car washes. He surveyed the line, before maneuvering his motorcycle to the front.

He pulled up next to a sedan that was being ineptly scrubbed by giggling girls, including Chris and Rachel. A boom box on the curb was blasting pop music. Chris didn't even know he owned a motorcycle. When she looked up and saw him on it, with his jacket open and red t-shirt peeking out from underneath, it actually took her breath away.

Her outfit had a similar effect on him, as she dropped her sponge and strutted over. She wore a white Max Headroom t-shirt and sweat pants, cut off at the knee, with "Juicy" scrolled across the butt. Both were soaked and plastered to her frame. Her red bra stood out like a welt under her shirt. The rest of the girls were showing twice as much skin.

"Hey House, I'll wash your crotch rocket for half price." She was surprised and a little proud of her own brazenness.

"You're causing a traffic jam."

"That's why we're not in front of the building."

"It's a safety hazard."

"Only for dirty old men with high blood pressure." She grinned.

"I'm sure there are none of those at this hospital." His tone was sarcastic.

"Oh come on. It's for a good cause. Some good had to come from this heat wave." Her smile was genuine and House felt the corners of his mouth curving upward despite himself. "I'll take good care of her." Chris stroked the bike with a mostly dry hand.

House turned it off, and dropped the kick stand. Just as he was climbing off, the sedan pulled away and the gaggle of cheerleaders surrounded him. It took only minutes for them to wash and rinse the small bike. House stood far enough away to stay dry, but close enough to jump in if they broke something.

"I'll finish this." Chris offered. "You should start that guy. He's getting peeved." She motioned to the next car in line.

The other girls flitted away, sloshing suds behind them. Rachel gave Chris a pointed look, before joining the others. Chris half-heartedly began drying the seat of the bike. House was leaning against the hood of an SUV.

"I have to confess… I have no idea how to get this dry enough for you to drive it away." She draped her towel over one of the handle bars.

"I have a theory." House said.

"I bet you have lots of them." She leaned against the SUV, not realizing she was mimicking his stance. "What's your theory?"

"You wear the vintage t-shirts to remind me of my youth, so I'll be more receptive to a younger woman."

"That's a good theory, except I wear these everywhere. Kids at school don't remember the 80's any more than I do. Plus… weren't you like thirty in the 80's?"

"Not until the end of the 80's."

"I shop in thrift stores and donation bins. Band tees are easier to rock than leisure suits and bridesmaid dresses."

"You still maintain that your volunteering here has nothing to do with me?"

"Some things aren't about you, you know?" She fought the urge to turn and face him.

"I may be a narcissist, but I'm not oblivious."

"Yeah," she nodded and felt that warm rush in her chest that told her she was about to do something very important or very stupid. "I admit that seeing you wasn't exactly the worst case scenario, when I was thinking of applying here, but it wasn't a deciding factor, either. It's just a perk, like the free, _hot _coffee."

"What was the deciding factor?" House wasn't satisfied.

"The hospital offers a scholarship, for one student with at least one hundred volunteer hours." She turned to him and lowered her voice. "It used to be forty-grand. This year it's only ten, but there was some clerical error, and it hasn't been publicized at all. Currently there are no eligible applicants. I have three months to do 100 hours."

"There are scholarships everywhere."

"My transcript is a train wreck, and I'm too old for a lot of money aimed at seniors. Ten-grand will get me through community college, without having to work four jobs, and then I'll have those two years to stand on, instead of the last six."

"And you learned about this how?"

"Officially? I read it in my guidance counselor's email, while she was… out of the room, and may have deleted the email, so she wouldn't share it with other students. Unofficially, I have an awesome guidance counselor."

House nodded, not especially surprised. "You know money from the hospital will have strings attached. Do you want to be a doctor?"

"Sure, why not? Doctor, lawyer, unicorn tamer," her voice dripped with sarcasm. He might as well suggest she swim the English Channel on her way home. She could barely get through high school, there was no way she'd ever be a doctor. "Statistically, I'll be lucky if my job title doesn't start with 'crack' or end in 'whore'."

"There's a quote for your essays." He smirked.

She laughed. "I just have to do something in the medical field. It's a broad field. I'll probably go for lab tech or something."

"Boring." He seemed almost offended that she would consider something so average.

"I can handle boring." She turned to face him directly. "I cannot handle losing volunteer hours. So could you stop telling people that I'm a stalker."

"It would be easier if you'd stop stalking me."

She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Whatever, I have to get back to work." She grabbed the towel off of his bike, and headed for the car that had just pulled up.

"Wait."House called.

"What?" She turned back to him. He had taken a bill from his pocket and was holding it out to her. Her face didn't register any surprise that it was a fifty.

"Keep the change. It's for a good cause." He said.

"I have a theory." She moved in a little closer than necessary. "That you've got a twenty on you, but you pulled out a fifty on purpose. That's to remind me that doctors make lots of money, so I'll be more receptive to an older man."

"You're welcome." He wondered if she was right.

"Thanks. You just put us over six-hundred." She turned to walk away from him.

"Six hundred? You're not even doing a good job." He raised his voice.

"Boys are easy. We're even helping out the coffee cart."

House followed her gaze to the small lawn and walkway that led to the side doors. The vendor was parked in his usual spot. House had rarely seen more than two people in line there. Now it was surrounded by mostly male patients and staff, including his team and Wilson, all drinking from brown paper cups.

Just then a Lady Gaga song ended, and the DJ's voice blared over the airwaves. "That one goes out to the Lady Wildcats of Plainsboro High School." The girls started squealing and shouting. "Stop by Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital before five o'clock, for a car wash from the Lady Wildcats." The girls got even louder.

"These girls could organize anything. We have PR. There's a cotton candy machine on its way. If they'd had another days notice we'd have matching outfits and a choreographed dance routine."

"Then you could charge admission and drop the car wash act." House was climbing onto the still damp motorcycle.

"You just wish you'd driven the car this morning."

"Yeah, now I have to get my bike washed for real."

Chris watched him drive away before joining the others at the next car. House drove around to his usual spot, and then went directly to the side lawn to yell at his staff.

"Get back to work." House told all three of them.

"We don't even have a patient." Thirteen replied.

"Not you. You can stay. I want an oral report on everything you've observed, right before I go home." He turned to Foreman and Chase. "You two find something to do."

"We're not harming anything." Chase argued.

"Now!" They gave up and left, but dragged their feet, until the car wash was out of view. Thirteen followed.

"What was that about?" Wilson asked.

"They're wasting time." House said, idly glancing at the car wash.

"I know what that was about. I meant your chat with the cheerleader."

"She's not a cheerleader." House corrected him.

"But now you're picturing her in the outfit aren't you."

"It's inappropriate. This is a hospital not a pep rally and it's October. They could all catch pneumonia and the hospital would be liable."

"It's over seventy degrees out. They're applying sunscreen."

"They're all teenagers."

"Not Chris."

"How do you know her name?" House asked.

"I introduced myself a few days ago. She seems nice, smart, funny..."

House grunted. "She's not your type. Not needy enough."

"I think she is. She hides it well, and she's too proud to admit to needing anyone. That just means you're off the hook, if you don't meet her needs."

House was scowling at him.

"You like her." Wilson smiled. "If you didn't like her you'd already be sleeping with her. You should ask her out."

"She's twenty-one." Even House new this was a feeble excuse, coming from him.

"That's a bad thing?"

"She's half my age."

"Since when do you care what people think of you? Is this some reverse midlife crisis?"

House was silent. He looked across the lot at Chris, and then up at nothing in particular.

Wilson pondered for a moment, and then his face lit up with equal parts hope and surprise. "You care what people think of her. You're protecting her, from you. It's so self aware, so… caring."

House just rolled his eyes, grabbed Wilson's coffee, and went inside.


	7. A House Is Not a Home

TITLE: Chapter 6: A House Is Not a Home

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris suggested

RATING: PG-13ish

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: House gives Chris a ride home.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK:

It was late. House was in his office, playing his PS3, and waiting for the team to come back with test results. Most of the lights were off, and he was sitting just out of view from the windows. He looked up when someone walked into the outer office. They didn't see him, and went directly to the mini fridge.

Chris grabbed a cup of Jell-O and a bottle of water, out of the fridge. As she hunted for the plastic spoons, she discovered a box of stale doughnuts. She paused for a moment, deciding how to juggle her spoils; eventually she stuffed the water bottle into her pocket. Then she carefully stabbed the spoon against the foil lid of the Jell-O, until it tore a snug hole, for the spoon to rest in.

She picked up a doughnut and closed the box, making as little noise as she could. House cleared his throat, just as she was slipping the doughnut over the spoons handle. Chris jumped. She managed to keep her grip on the cup, but the doughnut flew across the room, and landed with a soft thud in one of the chairs.

"It's a little late to be stealing carbs, isn't it?" House was leaning against the door frame, with his arms crossed in front of him.

Chris glared at him, not really angry, but annoyed at being caught. "No one's going to eat these anyway." She picked up the doughnut and took a bite.

"What services do candy stripers offer at this hour?" House raised his brows.

"I'm not candy striping." She shook her head. "I'm working on a file retirement… for Dr. Wilson."

"Traitor."

"He was going to hire a temp. I made an offer that's way cheaper than an agency. Plus I can make my own hours and he doesn't have to share his office during the day."

"And his office is right next to mine." House wasn't sure if this was her design or Wilson's, but he was sure it was not just a coincidence.

Chris rolled her eyes. "Again, not everything revolves around you. I'm babysitting for Dr. Fergusson next week. How is that about you?"

"Maybe we live on the same bus route? Maybe we have the same shoe size. I don't know how a stalker's mind works."

"I'm getting a clearer picture of yours though." She shook her head and laughed, as she moved towards the door. "Goodnight House."

"Goodnight, " he said after she was out of earshot.

A few hours later, House was leaving and couldn't resist stopping by Wilson's office. He opened the door and stuck his head in. There were two stacks of numbered boxes near the door. Chris was curled on the sofa, surrounded by more boxes and files, with a highlighter in one hand, and several papers in the other. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted toward the soft cushion.

House didn't want to wake her. He had almost decided to leave, when the highlighter slipped from Chris's fingers, with a soft thud and a streak of blue down the center of the file list. The movement and noise woke her. She capped the marker, stretched her arms, and arched her back, before noticing House in the door.

"Jeez, who's the stalker now?" She was startled when she saw him and snapped her arms down to her sides.

"I'm leaving. I thought you might need a ride." House said.

"Uh," her face went blank. "No, I'm good. I've got a few more hours in me. Thanks though."

"I've slept on that couch before. Don't repeat my mistakes."He didn't smile, but his voice was friendly enough, not threatening. It certainly shouldn't have elicited the amount of fear she was trying to hide.

She didn't respond but caught her bottom lip in her teeth. She never brought people home. The neighborhood was bad enough, but it was the possibility of someone knowing where she lived, and coming by while she wasn't home that stopped her. No one, not even the state appointed social workers, knew what her mother was really like.

"I assume you live with your mom, and won't be inviting me in for adrink." He clarified his intentions, or lack of intentions, but he doubted that they were the cause of her apprehension.

This almost made her laugh. The idea of him being in her house was absurd. The only thing they had to drink at her house was off brand cola, in a Pepsi bottle that she refilled every other day, so her mother would think it was the real thing. No, she would not be inviting him in for a drink, but she didn't want to make him curious, and she certainly didn't want him to mistake her hesitance for rejection.

"Yeah… ok, give me like three minutes to clean this up." She motioned to the mess around her.

She placed a new numbered box on top of the others, and then stacked her other supplies neatly on one of the book shelves. She turned out the lights, locked up, and followed House down the corridor. As they passed his office, she saw that his staff was still there. She felt a flopping sensation in her stomach, as she tried not to think of what they must be thinking.

They were quiet in the elevator. She tried to remember the last time she was in his car, but that night was very fuzzy in her head. She followed him not expecting to see the orange motorcycle in the vacant parking lot. House handed her the helmet. He laughed a little when her eyes grew wider.

"Um… I…" She gulped.

"What, are you afraid to ride a motorcycle?"

"No." She couldn't say she was afraid of being so close to him, or that she might not want to let go, when they stopped. She couldn't say she was afraid what people would think of them, or that she was afraid what he would think, when he saw where she lived. "How am I supposed to give you directions?"

"You could tell me before we leave," he answered.

She nodded, as he climbed on the bike. Watching his face, for recognition or judgment, she told him where her house was. Then she put on the helmet and climbed on behind him, holding his shoulder for balance. She sat board straight, with her arms at her sides.

"You're going to want to hold onto something," he said. She nodded even though he couldn't see it.

When he started the engine, she still tried to keep her back straight. Her left hand grasped his hip, and she held the right stiffly between their bodies. As they rode she began to calm down. The warm air felt incredible as it rushed over her. Her body relaxed against his, and she let her right hand slip around his waist. His abs were tight, under the thin t-shirt he wore, and she had to close her fist to resist running her fingers over them. She thought she felt him laugh.

As they approached her neighborhood, she could feel the tension coming back. The houses on this street, all looked like concrete boxes, with more bricks and siding missing than left on the walls. She pointed out a few turns to him, and soon they were riding down her street. She wanted to let him pass her house, but he seemed to realize they were near, and slowed down. She pointed to the small dilapidated house, with more weeds than grass in the yard, and no car in the broken, over-grown driveway.

She slid off the bike, not wanting him to sense her reluctance, and removed her helmet. She stood awkwardly, holding the helmet and hoping he would keep his word, and not ask to come in. He took it from her.

"Do I have to walk you to your door?" Was all that he said.

She shook her head, offered him a forced smile, and thanked him for the ride. He watched as she climbed the front steps, the first of which had been replaced with cinder blocks, some time ago. She avoided the soft spot in the top step without effort or thought, and waved over her shoulder at him while she unlocked the two deadbolts, and then hurried inside.

She relocked the door, and then watched through the peep hole as House rode away. She turned around and leaned against the door, with a sigh and a smile.

"Sarah?" Her mother's voice called from the living room, illuminated only by the TV screen.

"It's Chris, Mom."

"Why aren't you at your friend's?" The older woman didn't look up.

"I decided I'd rather come home and watch a movie with you. What are we watching?" Chris asked her.

"Jurassic Park."

"I should have known. How about some popcorn?" She offered.

"And Pepsi," her mother added.

Chris poured oil and kernels into a pot and set the lid slightly ajar. While it heated, she poured two glasses of the off-brand cola, and set them on the coffee table. When the corn was popped, she poured it in a bowl and placed it next to the sodas. She grabbed a blanket and lay on the tattered couch, with her head in her mother's lap. She held the bowl of popcorn on her chest.

"Did you have a good day at school?" Her mother asked.

"Yeah."

"Did you make good grades?"

"Straight A's," this was always Chris's response.

"That's good."

"I like a boy." Chris could no longer predict what might upset her mother. They rarely departed from the topics of school, dinner, or their small collection of VHS tapes, but Chris couldn't resist the urge to tell her about him.

"Boys are trouble." Her mother's eyes never left the TV, and her voice held little emotion.

Chris could imagine her mother saying this, with a laugh in her voice, and a smile on her face. Sherrice Ramirez had once been vibrant and funny. She had been the kind of woman who was never lonely, and never bored. She was the kind of mom that would pull her daughters out of school early, to go see a matinee movie, on her rare day off work.

She hadn't always been the most stable parent. Chris had more "uncles" and "stepdads" that she could remember. All that changed when Sherrice got pregnant with Sarah. Her dad married Sherrice and adopted Chris. They'd been a family, until he died in a car accident. Sherrice had never been the same after his death, but she had still been a good mom. She was supportive after the attack, and when she found out the girls were pregnant. Sarah's death had pushed her over the edge. She had been slipping farther and farther away, ever since that day.

"This boy is lots of trouble." Chris told her.

"Is he nice?" Sherrice stroked her daughter's hair. Chris knew it didn't mean her mother was lucid, but it was soothing none the less.

"He's nice to me." Chris shrugged.

"Does Sarah like him?"

"I don't know. I don't think they've met." Chris didn't let her voice crack, and focused on the TV. Had she been hoping for motherly advice? "Oh look this is the best part."

A velociraptor raced across the screen, squawking after a child. Chris handed her mother the popcorn and sat up. She tucked the blanket around her mom's shoulders, and said goodnight.

Chris's room was just big enough to fit her twin bed, a dresser, and a small bookshelf. The only light came from a bulb screwed into a fixture in the ceiling. There was a frame and screws for a shade, but it was long gone by the time they moved in. There were a few cracks in the ceiling, but they didn't leak when it rained, like the ones in the kitchen.

The one small window had been covered with a thick, floral bedspread for security and privacy. The walls were bare except for two pictures of guardian angels; one had hung over her bed since she was a child, and the other had hung over Sarah's. There was a stack of library books in the corner by the closet.

Her shelves were crammed with books of every shape, size, and topic. The collection was in constant rotation, as she found a box of travel guides on the street, or a newer World Almanac or foreign language dictionary at a thrift store. The top shelf held tattered copies of her favorite novels, and a set of Dr. Seuss books that had survived her childhood. She had read _The Cat in the Hat_ to Sarah, so many times as a kid, that Sarah had known the words by heart, before she'd learned to read.

She undressed and packed her backpack, for the next day. After she flipped off the light switch by the door, she hurried and jumped into her bed, remembering the night she'd stepped on a huge cockroach as she made her way to the bathroom in the dark. She hated this place.


	8. Crumbling

_I'm going on vacation, and probably won't get another chapter posted for a couple weeks. This one is extra long to make up for it. :) Enjoy!_

TITLE: Chapter 7: Crumbling

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: Violence, language

SUMMARY: Chris's worst fears are realized.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRCK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

Chris stepped off the bus, and hurried across the street. She carried three duffel bags full of laundry, and her usual back pack. In her mind, she was sure she looked like any other bag lady or hobo, carrying a life's collection of junk, as she trudged through the streets. In fact, she stood out like a quarter surrounded by pennies in a wishing fountain, too bright, too clean, and (if the onlookers were being totally honest with themselves) too pale for these streets.

House, who was making his way home from his favorite strip joint, recognized her from almost a block away. She skipped over a puddle in the broken pavement, as he pulled up beside her. It had rained all afternoon, and the sky was still threatening and overcast. She heard the car slowing behind her, and instinctively moved all the way to the inside of the sidewalk, so that one of her bags scraped the building as she walked.

"How much for an hour?" House called out of the passenger side window.

It seemed as if her entire body uncoiled, when she heard the familiar voice, even though all she'd really done was turn to look at him. "More than you've got."

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Home," she answered.

"From where?" he knew this area well enough. Even in the daylight every business on this street was either distasteful, illegal, or a cover for both.

"The Laundromat," she patted one of the duffel bags.

House thought about this before asking, "Which one?"

"Why do you care what Laundromat I use?"

"I don't. I'm just want to know why you're lying. There's a stop on Third, closer to your house."

"I missed the stop."

"Bullshit," House was enjoying this. "I'll give you a ride, if you tell me what you're doing out here."

"I don't really need a ride." As soon as she said it, a few drops of rain landed on his windshield. She looked up and another drop fell on her cheek. She looked around, wondering how he could have possibly made that happen. House pushed the car door open. She situated all her laundry in the backseat, and climbed in next to him. "Fine, but it's really not that interesting."

House just waited as the rain came heavier outside the car.

"You're not even going to drive until I tell you?" she asked.

"Nope."

"So we can just sit here until the rain stops?" she smirked.

"Is it that bad? Is it drugs?" House asked.

"No," She rolled her eyes.

"Are you a prostitute?" He raised one eyebrow and grinned.

"NO! Would I have a dozen other jobs if I were a hooker?" she huffed. She knew he'd just said it to get a rise out of her, but it worked.

"I wouldn't think so, unless you were really, _really_ bad at it." He was still grinning.

She laughed and gave a resigned sigh. "There was a creepy guy on the bus. He's probably harmless, but he got off at Third, after I had already rung for the stop, and I just…" she shivered a little. "I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't want to be alone with him." She looked out the window.

"You're a great liar." Coming from House this sounded like the highest compliment, instead of an accusation.

"What?" she blinked back at him.

"Really great, you should get an agent. If you hadn't avoided the question so much, I would have bought that, but there's nothing embarrassing about that story. There's no reason not to tell me the first time I asked."

"I didn't want to sound paranoid, or crazy, or…" she gave it up. The look on his face told her she was never going to sell it.

He watched her and waited for the real answer, as a low-rider blaring gangster rap rolled past. The music shook the car, but Chris could still feel the trembling in her stomach after it past.

"There's a newsstand right next to the stop on Third." Chris finally said.

House started the car. "You just don't want to be exposed to the liberal media brainwashing?"

"It rained. The guy who owns it pulls everything into the booth, and covers stuff with plastic, but some papers still get wet… every time." She paused, hoping with all her heart that he wouldn't ask for more of an explanation. "I can't take the smell."

House nodded, he couldn't actually recall the smell of wet newspaper, but he knew how a certain scent could jog the memory. "You have any other weird phobias?"

"No," she lied. She couldn't lay face down during sex either, but he didn't need to know that, did he? She had to use the first stall in public restrooms, because she'd read that statistically the first stall was the least used, and therefore the cleanest. Some people might have thought it compulsive. Her sunscreen use was definitely compulsive, but there was nothing wrong with being cautious, right?

"Where did you learn to speak Spanish?" He changed the subject as much out of mercy as curiosity.

"Where did you learn that I speak Spanish?" She was grateful for the non sequitur.

"It's on your resume."

"Wilson gave you my resume?" She wasn't that surprised that he would, but a little surprised that he did, that House had even asked him for it.

"That's one way to put it. Wilson and HR both loaned me a copy." He focused on the road.

"You stole it… twice? Why?" she looked at him, not looking at her, and felt her face flush. She could not stifle her smile. He was researching her. That was the biggest compliment a man like House could bestow.

"Why did you Google me?" He brushed off her question, but noted the pleased expression on her face, out of the corner of his eye.

Her eyes grew wider and she felt her face heating up even more. She had Googled him, but she hadn't even used a hospital computer. "How do you know that?"

"You just told me." He smiled, at least he wasn't the only one doing research.

She groaned, annoyed that she'd fallen for that, but couldn't help laughing. "This is like foreplay for you isn't it?"

House laughed too, before turning the subject back to her. "You spoke English to your mom. Does your dad speak Spanish, grandparents?"

"I don't know. I never met any of them. I learned Spanish in school and talking with neighbors." Chris explained.

"I thought you took French."

"I did, in high school. I took Spanish in middle school and it's never hard to find someone to practice on. There's also the internet."

"Are you really CPR certified?"

"It's great for babysitting. I've never had to use it, but parents like knowing I could." Was he going to go over her whole resume? She considered saying "foreplay" again, just to distract him.

"It must have been expensive."

"It was through the school, taught entirely by volunteers from the Red Cross and CDC and a few EMT's and firefighters."

"Is there any class you won't take?"

"Not if it's free." She shook her head. "I told you I like trying new things." She wanted to ask him to wait, while she put the laundry up. Heck, maybe she'd just drop it off. They could get a drink. He didn't seem like the type who would mind drinking before five o'clock.

They were on her street and as they pulled closer, they both saw that her front door was ajar. "Oh God," Chris whispered, steeling herself up for whatever she was about to find. The house had been broken into before, but that was years ago. Her mother's condition had deteriorated a lot since then.

She was out of the car before he could put it in park. He followed her, never even considering staying in the car. She was beyond caring what he did at that point.

"Shit!" Chris tore through the house, "Mom?"

She checked the living room and kitchen first. Nothing seemed out of place. They didn't have much worth stealing, but even the TV and VCR were still there. She went to her mother's room and checked the closet and under the bed. She crossed the hall to her room and House was next to her. Her bed was on its side with the mattress on the floor.

"She's not here." Chris said, when she noticed House had followed her in.

"Where would she go?"

"Nowhere." She looked up at House, like he was the crazy one. "She doesn't leave, ever. Will you drive around the block? If you see her, call her Sherry and tell her you know me. Don't try to get her in the car. Just call me. Tell her you're calling me."

"Turn on your phone." House told her.

"What?"

"I called you, when I was pulling up next to you. It's turned off."

"Shit," She nodded.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to check the yard and then the alleys. She wouldn't go far… unless she's lost." She was moving down the hall, away from him before she finished her thought.

They went opposite ways, House out the front and Chris out the back. After a few seconds, he heard her call his name. When he made it to the back yard Chris was kneeling by the steps beside her mother, who had scrapes and bruises on her arms and face.

"Call 911," Chris shouted over her shoulder. "What happened? Did they hurt you?"

"We need to get those stairs fixed." Sherry replied.

"Who was here Momma?" Chris asked.

"Stupid little prick, I shut him up."

"Where did he go?" Chris only saw her mother.

House was dialing the number and surveying the scene. There was a fence along the back of the property. It was overgrown with weeds and tall grass, but the blades near the gate were bent and recently walked on. A few were even caught in the gate's latch. As he gave the address, he walked to the fence and looked out into the alley.

"Make it two ambulances." He told the dispatcher.

"I don't need an ambulance. I'm fine." Chris looked up at him and saw that he wasn't looking at her. She started to yell at him. He was a doctor. Why wasn't he checking her mom? Something in his face stopped her.

"It's not for you."

"What?" She turned to her mother and then back to House, before standing and walking just a few steps closer to the gate. She peered over it from a distance. Tommy Thompson lay in the alley face down in a puddle of blood. House was forcing the gate open. He knelt beside Tommy and pressed his fingers to his throat. He didn't have to speak, when he looked up at her.

Chris put her hands in front of her as if she would catch herself, but there was nothing to grasp. Her breath was short. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Finally she crumbled to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. Letting her head rest on her knees, she stared at her mother.

This couldn't be happening. She'd known she needed to be home more. She'd known it wasn't safe to leave her mother there alone, but could she really have killed someone, killed Tommy? What was he doing there? Would her mother go to jail? How could she have let this happen?

The police arrived first. They spoke to House mostly. He showed them to the alley and answered their questions, in a quiet steady voice. They tried to speak to Sherrice. They were getting mad because her answers didn't make sense. Chris wanted to explain that that was normal, but again no words came out.

An officer came to talk to Chris, while the EMT's examined her mother and Tommy. He was asking if she was on drugs, or if her mother was on drugs? Did she recognize the man in the alley? When he knelt in front of her, she shook her head, not in answer, but to clear it. She had to snap out of this trance.

"No, no drugs. She takes an antidepressant and multivitamin every morning and a vitamin D once a week. Yes, I know him. He came here to scare me, or hurt me, or… I don't know. I am testifying against him in a rape trial next month." They had her Sherry on a gurney and were wheeling her away. Chris stood to follow them, and the officer held out a hand to steady her. "I have to go with her."

"We're not done here." The officer told her, in a calm, would be soothing voice.

"That's my mother. You can question me at the hospital or you can arrest me." Her tone was stern. She knew he was just doing his job, but she didn't really give a damn about his job. Where had he been when Tommy was breaking into her house? Where had she been? If she'd just taken her regular stop maybe she could have stopped this.

"I can give you a ride to the hospital, but you can't see the suspect until we've got our statement."

"Suspect? He broke into our house. She was defending herself." Chris narrowed her eyes.

"He's not on the property." The officer pointed out.

"That doesn't mean it wasn't self defense."

"Is that your pan?" He pointed to a cast iron skillet in the alley.

"What?" She hadn't noticed the skillet before, but now she recognized it. She nodded, and a feeling of total defeat swallowed her up. "Yes."

When House walked into the waiting room, Chris was lying on her back on one of the benches. She had one leg folded under her and the other dangling over the back of the seat. A text book lay across her chest. She held her phone in one hand, and the other was pressed against her eyes.

An hour before, she'd been in a mostly empty storage closet, crying the type of heavy sobs that make it impossible to breath. She'd cried until she was light headed and felt hollow inside. Then she'd taken as deep a breath as she could manage, wiped her face, and walked back to the waiting room as if she'd only been out to smoke. There was no trace of her tears, when he looked at her now

House stood over her, but didn't speak. She was surprised to see him, but glad for any distraction. She stood and immediately starting to pace in front of him. She blurted out every thought that had gone through her mind while she tried to think of who to call and what to do. Well the relevant thoughts, not the self loathing desperate ones, or the ones about running away and never looking back.

"I still can't even see her. The cops can't get a statement because she's crazy. The doctors are trying to rule out every potential, medical cause for crazy. I keep saying this is just normal, but I clearly don't know shit. She's screwed. Either they decide she's not crazy and throw her in jail or they decide she is crazy and they throw her in a hospital."

"Maybe a hospital can help." House offered.

"She's been to doctors. She's been to therapy. She's been on every medication, had her hair falling out, stopped sleeping, and stopped getting out of bed. They can't help her. They'll label and dose her, and throw away the key." Her eyes didn't focus and her voice shook just a little. "Unless there's a pill to replace her children and their innocence, there's nothing they can do."

"Then it's better this way." House said what anyone else would have the sense, or maybe decency, not to say.

"Better?" The flash in her eyes suggested that he might be out of line.

"A hospital is prepared to care for her and protect her. It's better for both of you."

"Better?" She repeated. She had stopped pacing and moved towards him. She might have been preparing to take a swing at him.

"Easier at least," House nodded.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, heavy breath. "Easier? Yes, it would be easier. I could sell the shithole, get a car, get a shitty apartment, or a decent apartment and a shitty roommate but…" Her eyes were boring a hole through his t-shirt. "She's all I have left."

She gave into her weariness and leaned into him. Her head rested on the logo, she'd been staring through a moment before. House put his arms around her and had the sense, or maybe the decency, to keep quiet. She was shocked, by the wave of comfort that his embrace gave her.

House saw her eyes change from brown to warm gold, as they filled with tears. He saw her face flush and heard her breath catch. He found himself completely disarmed, by her lack of defenses. He waited helplessly, for this strong, beautiful girl to crumble in front of him.

She wanted to crumble, to cry, to wail for everything that was lost, for the lives that wouldn't be lived, because of her failures. She wanted to collapse under the weight on her shoulders, into his arms and just weep. She couldn't though, not now, and not in front of him. When she looked up at him, his eyes were even sadder than usual, sad for her. It hurt to look at him, to be seen by him.

Instead she kissed him.

The kiss sent a tremor through both of their bodies. When he didn't fight, she slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him in closer. She shut out any thought that wasn't about his lips and his arms, and about keeping them right where they were.

He pulled away gently, until they were a few inches apart. "You're upset."

"So comfort me." Her voice was a throaty purr, that sent blood rushing from his brain directly to his crotch.

"No." He stepped back.

"What, you're suddenly all chivalrous?" She didn't understand him. How could he flirt with her and tease her, and then reject her now, when it felt like his touch was the only thing that could keep her sane.

"I'm not going to take advantage of you."

"Why not, isn't that what you're good at?" Her tone was vicious. All the passion she'd thrown into the kiss now simmered just under the surface, looking for a fight.

"You're having a bad day. You survived a trauma. You have boundary issues. You don't place appropriate significance on sexual relationships." House tried to sound clinical and detached.

"Did you just call me a slut in psycho babble?" She didn't give him a chance to respond. "I haven't had sex in over two years and before that… nothing, not even a hand job since I was fifteen."

House cocked his head to one side as he processed this information. He was pretty sure she's said something important, but his brain kept looping back to the word "hand-job". Chris could almost hear the gears turning in his brain.

"Then why are you doing this?" He finally said.

"Why am I kissing you?"

"Yeah." He gave a sheepish nod, but held eye contact this time.

"I like you, you idiot." It was true. She liked him, and she liked anything that kept her from thinking about the mess she was in.

"Why?"

"At the moment, I have no fucking idea." She glared at him.

"Wilson was right."

"Right, about what?" She asked.

"You're looking for a father figure. You haven't made a move in months, and now that you might be losing your mom, you've got to have it, right here in the waiting room."

"Right, normal people never use sex to relieve stress." She kind of wanted to punch him again.

"It's more than that."

"First of all, any daddy issues I ever had were trumped by the gang rape dead sister issues. Second, I make straight A's, hold down multiple jobs, and take care of her." Her voice trembled as she pointed down the hall, towards her mother's room. "I don't do drugs. I didn't even have a drink for my twenty-first birthday. I don't need a fucking role model, and I don't need _this_ from you." She tore out of the room and down the hall, without a glance back at him.

She fumed all the way down to the ground floor, and pulled out a cigarette, while she walked the requisite twenty feet away from the entrance. She lit it and took a deep drag. She knew she wasn't even mad, not at House at least. Screaming at him was just a distraction. Kissing him would have been more fun, but screaming was better than nothing.

She was smoking her third cigarette, when he appeared in the door way. Once again she was surprised to see him. Why was he still there?

"They're looking for you. You can see her now." He told her.

"Thank you." She stammered, crushing the butt under her boot.

"Turn on your phone. You're killing my leg."

She laughed a short sudden laugh that almost brought tears to her eyes and nodded. She wanted to say something but nothing seemed to fit. He nodded back, giving her permission to rush ahead of him and take the stairs two at time. It was all she could do not to let the tears flow until her back was to him.

After her mother fell asleep, Chris talked with the nurses and decided to put off calling Rachel until the next day. She washed her face in the restroom, bought a bottle of water from a machine, and settled down for a long night in the waiting room. She pulled a couple benches together and lay with her back pack for a pillow, knowing she wouldn't sleep.

"Make yourself at home." House said, as he walked in with two cups of coffee. He stood in front of her, until she sat up and made room for him, where her head had been.

"Why are you still here?" She asked as he sat and handed her a cup.

"I can leave." He offered.

"No. I didn't mean..." She sighed. "Thank you." She took a sip of the coffee and failed not to make a face. It was really sweet.

"I didn't know how you took it." House took her cup and handed her his. It was strong and black just like she liked it. The way he liked it too actually.

"What _are_ you doing here?" She looked at the cup, and her shoe, and her fingernails.

"I checked her chart; just to be sure they weren't missing anything." He told her.

"And?"

"Nothing stands out."

Chris nodded and they drank their coffee. After a while Chris put hers on the table and lay down again. Her head was next to his good leg. She bent her knees and pressed her palms to her thighs. He looked down at her, and then they both looked away.

"So what happened to your leg?" She asked.

"I cut myself shaving" House said.

"What were you shaving, exactly?" She gave a weak imitation of a playful grin. "Oh come on. You know all my baggage… and unless your brother ripped your leg off and raped you with it mine's probably worse."

House laughed, shook his head, and then told her the story. He had two well rehearsed versions. Both were totally true, but one was clinical and neat. The other took longer and grazed the topics of Stacy and his stubbornness, even in the face of death. He told Chris the latter.

"So you left her?" Chris asked when he was finished. It wasn't that she didn't care about his leg, but the outcome of that part was pretty obvious. She wanted to know more about this woman, who had loved him enough to make him hate her.

"It was mutual toward the end."

"But she saved your life?"

"Maybe, but …" He had had that argument so many times, with so many people, including himself, that he couldn't help but become defensive.

Chris held one finger up to shush him. "I'm not taking her side. I'm just saying that it's crap. She could either respect you and let you die, or love you and let them butcher your leg. You couldn't forgive her for loving you more than she respected you."

"You're right. Now I see the error of my ways. I should call her right now." House rolled his eyes.

"It's sad. That's all. I won't say anything else." She stretched her legs. "It worked out ok for me though."


	9. Chronic

TITLE: Chapter 8 Chronic

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: Chris isn't the only one who can't cope.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

Wilson's car was in the shop, and House had called at three in the morning to say he wouldn't be giving him a ride to work after all. Wilson had been annoyed, but didn't question him. It was just House, being House. Cuddy resented that House was still able to interfere with her personal life, even though he was no longer a part of it, but she didn't really mind picking up Wilson. He would have done the same for her. He was a good friend, and would almost certainly send a bottle of wine or tickets to a play, as a thank you gift, within the week.

They had walked in together, discussing the agenda for an upcoming board meeting. Cuddy's assistant approached with a handful of files and a cup of coffee. Cuddy thanked her, and perused the files, still maintaining her conversation with Wilson as they walked into her office. She handed one of the files to Wilson, and asked if he would give it to one of House's team members, to be put in the running for House's next guinea pig.

"He doesn't have a patient?" Wilson asked.

"Why is that a surprise?" Cuddy asked, as she sat behind her desk and began looking at her messages. This was House they were talking about; the only thing he avoided more than patients was her.

"He said he's been here all night."

They exchanged a glance and Cuddy made a few phone calls, first to the ER and then to House's team, to ascertain that he wasn't injured or actually doing work for a change. After a few more calls, she learned that he had been in the second floor waiting room most of the night with the family of a patient. "Sherrice Ramirez?" she asked Wilson, thinking he might recognize the name.

House had pulled another bench in front of them, to support his legs. He was playing his PSP, with the sound barely audible. Chris was curled up against him with her head in his lap. A blanket that he had draped over her back, after she fell asleep, now threatened to slip to the ground, at any moment.

He saw Wilson and Cuddy coming, and turned off the game. They didn't say a word as they approached. Both looked more puzzled than worried.

"It's not what you think," House said. "She's actually performing oral sex."

"What does that say about you?" Chris's voice was groggy. She stretched her legs and caught the blanket at the same time. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven," House told her.

"Crap, I have to go." Chris leaped up.

"Where are you going?" House asked her.

"School," she answered.

Chris offered a quick greeting to Cuddy and Wilson as she gathered her things. She wanted to thank House, but found herself suddenly shy with his friends in the room. She said her goodbyes and bolted toward the elevators, leaving House to answer their questions.

Chris came running through the lobby, still in her clothes from the day before. She'd had to make several stops on her way back to the hospital. On top of that, the bus was late and her phone was dead. Seething and feeling guilty, she almost ran right past House, as he was leaving for the day.

"Hey," he stopped her.

"Hey, have you heard anything? Did they send her upstairs?"

"They're still waiting for test results. Where have you been?" House asked. He had assumed she was avoiding the situation, when Chris hadn't been back to the hospital earlier. Now he questioned that theory, and wondered what could have kept her away all day.

"I give plasma on Mondays and Fridays, when they have extended hours. I didn't even give today, because there was an hour wait, but I had to go to the food bank too. It's the only one that's open when I'm not in school. If you miss a week, you have to do all the paperwork again, and…" Her eyes were welling with tears. "The busses … were," she sniffed and tried to catch her breath, "running … late…" Her voice totally gave out, and turned to a high-pitched squeak on the last word. She stopped and took a deep breath.

House's bewildered face would have been funny, if he were looking at anyone but her.

"I need to be up there," she said it quietly, afraid that her voice would betray her again.

House nodded and watched her run up the steps. He drove all the way home. He was going to watch TV, and drink, and not think about it. He was standing in his kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich, when it occurred to him that she probably hadn't eaten anything all day.

It wasn't his problem. There were vending machines. The cafeteria was still open. As he took a bite of his sandwich, he imagined Chris, sitting next to the hospital bed, in an uncomfortable plastic chair, faking _that_ smile. He knew she wouldn't leave until her mother fell asleep, maybe not even then.

"Damn it," he muttered.

He stopped by his favorite deli, and picked up two of their best sandwiches, plus a sack full of whatever snacks they had to offer. He considered turning around and going home, but for reasons he didn't quite understand, and didn't want to explore, he pressed on to the hospital.

He stood outside the room for awhile before he entered. Chris sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, giving her mother a detailed account of her week at school. She seemed completely at ease. He could tell she was faking it, by the slight edge in her voice and the way she was twisting the corner of the bed sheet in her fingers. He also knew that faking it brought a comfort all its own.

House walked in and sat in one of the plastic chairs. Chris stopped mid-sentence to stare at him. He pulled out the sandwiches. "Do you want chicken salad or corned beef?"

Chris felt the sting of tears in her eyes again. "Chicken?" she hadn't meant it to be a question, but that was how it came out.

House handed Chris the sandwich, enjoying her surprise almost as much as her attempt to hide it. Then he pulled out a pudding cup and offered it to Sherry.

"Who are you?" Sherry asked, as she took the pudding.

"This is House, Mom. We met while I was volunteering." Chris looked pointedly at House.

"That's a stupid name," Sherry said.

Chris laughed. "You're right, I bet he made it up."

House rolled his eyes at their heckling and opened the other sandwich. Sherry was focused on her pudding. Chris un-wrapped her sandwich and took a bite. She chewed it slowly, trying to identify the flavors. There were nuts, apples, dried fruit, which she thought might be cranberry, and something spicy. It was really good.

"This is from the cafeteria?" Chris marveled.

"No way, you could catch botulism just looking at their chicken salad."

Chris shot him a dirty look.

"I guess they have to drum up business somewhere." House added with a sly grin.

"Thank you," Chris said. To avoid some awkward overflow of emotion, she looked down at the paper wrapper, and read the sticker on the outside. "How'd you know I like extra pickles?"

Chris had barely been home. She didn't leave the hospital unless she had to be at school. When she was there, she kept to herself, grateful that she had not been truly accepted by Rachel's friends, so they were not questioning her now. Rachel wasn't in homeroom, but with the number of clubs and activities she participated in, that wasn't uncommon. Chris was glad not to have to talk to her either.

She was sitting in her second period, Honors English class, when an office assistant came in, and handed the teacher a note. The teacher silently dropped the slip of paper on Chris's desk. Mrs. Harmon, the guidance counselor wanted to see her. The silence in the classroom was unnerving as she gathered her supplies and left.

The guidance counselor's door was open. Chris sat in a chair, against the wall, in the small office and let her book bag drop beside her. Mrs. Harmon stood and closed the door.

"What are you even doing here? You should be at the hospital." Mrs. Harmon leaned against her desk.

"You know I can't miss any more school."

"There are exceptions, Chris."

"There aren't any exceptions left. I just have to get through finals. You know I can't come back in the Spring."

"There are other programs. You could pass the GED in your sleep. If you can't afford it I'm sure…"

Chris didn't let her finish. "No! In twenty years no one will remember what year I should have graduated, but they _will_ notice a GED on a background check. I have a 4.0., I'm graduating this month!"

The counselor gave a resigned nod. They'd had this conversation several times before. "How's your mom?"

"Not great, I guess. They just moved her up to the psyche ward."

Mrs. Harmon shook her head. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Chris tightened her jaw, into the most forlorn scowl she could manage, and shrugged, the way she imagined a disgruntled teenager would have shrugged. Mrs. Harmon had helped her a lot. She'd shown her all of the loop holes to jump through to graduate this year. Chris didn't want to be rude, but she didn't have the energy for this touchy-feely crap.

"This came this morning." Mrs. Harmon handed her a thin envelope. Chris read the return address and looked up at her with wide eyes, before tearing it open.

The Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was glad to inform her that she had received that year's Harvey Lucas scholarship for volunteerism. She would receive the money after the annual awards luncheon. Chris blinked, and read the page again. Mrs. Harmon was asking if she'd won and Chris was nodding.

She couldn't speak. Her throat felt like it was constricting around a boulder. She couldn't even tell if she was breathing. She grabbed her bag, crumpling the award letter around the strap, and walked out of the office. Her head was spinning as the lunch bell rang. She ran for the closest restroom and rushed into the first stall.

She leaned against the cold metal as warm tears spilled down her face. The room was filling with hungry, busy, chatty teenage girls. Chris couldn't control her sobs. She pressed her hands to her face to muffle the noise.

"Do you think she really did it?" Chris heard a girl's voice ask.

"Would they just let her come back to school if she killed him?" another asked.

"I heard they're lesbians and she killed him in a jealous rage," a third girl replied.

"I'll be so mad if Rachel is a lesbo. That's just a waste of one fine quarterback," the first girl laughed.

"He'll need a shoulder to cry on if she goes to prison," the third offered.

"That is so wrong," the second girl laughed along as their voices trailed out the door.

Chris found her anger calming, like a slap in the face. She forced herself to breathe, stuffed the letter in her pocket, and waited. When she was sure she was alone, she stepped out of the stall and looked in the mirror, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. She looked down the hall, both ways, before slipping out of the bathroom. She skirted the crowds by slipping out a side door. As she hurried across the front lawn, towards the bus stop she saw Mrs. Harmon on the front steps, obviously searching for something.

When she saw Chris she called her name. As Chris approached the counselor, she could see from her face that something was wrong, more wrong than things had been a few minutes ago, in her office.

"You need to come with me…" Mrs. Harmon said in a soft voice, "to the hospital."

Chris tried to prepare herself for whatever she was going to hear next. If it was at the hospital, it had to be something to do with her mother, or with House. No, that was silly, no one would even think to tell her if something had happened to House, much less call her school. So it was her mom, but she hadn't even been sick. Maybe she was sick now? Maybe there was an accident? What if she was dead? They wouldn't make her go to the hospital if she were dead would they? All of this flashed through her brain at once before she could ask, "What happened?"

"It's Rachel. She's been admitted for an overdose."

Chris almost breathed a sigh of relief. She was that certain, that Mrs. Harmon must have been mistaken. "That's impossible, she's never even tried drugs."

"It was a suicide attempt…"

The counselor went on saying something, but Chris never knew if it was more details and explanation, or some hollow words that were meant to be comforting. All she heard was a rushing in her ears. She felt sick and the last thing she saw, as her vision began to tunnel, was the frown on the other woman's face. Mrs. Harmon moved towards Chris, as she saw the color drain from her face, but she wasn't fast enough to catch her before she collapsed on the pavement.

Chris came to, as the EMT's were rolling her out of the ambulance. She tried to sit up.

"Take it easy, you had a pretty nasty fall."

"I need to go to the hospital," Chris was thinking of Rachel, not herself.

"We're almost there. Are you in pain?"

"No, I'm fine." She had a terrible headache and huge goose egg forming on the side of her head, from falling, but wouldn't risk them making her sit through an MRI.

"Have you taken any medications today?"

"No!" Why did everyone think she was on drugs?

"What's your name?"

"Chris Ramirez."

"Chris, do you know where you are?"

"You just said we are at the damn hospital," Chris snapped, making the other EMT laugh. "It's Wednesday, December sixth. The president is Obama. I'm fine."

"The doctors are going to want to run a few tests to make sure."

"Tell them to call Dr. House, he treated me last time."

"You've fainted before?" he asked.

"No," she didn't feel like explaining that whole story.

"Do you have a chronic illness?"

"I'm starting to think so," she mumbled.

Chris waited in the ER, behind the thin curtain that separated each bed. She tried to relax, but she felt helpless sitting there waiting for House. What made it worse, was knowing that she wouldn't be any more help at Rachel's bedside, than she was there. Her brain churned with the events of the day. Rachel's phone went straight to voicemail when she tried to call, and she only had her parent's home number. Rachel hadn't even seemed depressed. She was the happiest, bubbliest person Chris knew.

Chris felt like she should have known something wasn't right. Even if she hadn't known Rachel that long, she knew what it was like to be violated. She had just assumed that Rachel was better at coping than she was. She tried to remember anything that Rachel might have said to tip her off. She had been upset when Chris told her what happened to Tommy, but that was a normal reaction, right?

Now Chris wondered if she'd been so wrapped up in her head, so busy with her own problems, that she missed some warning sign. They had never talked about what happened under the bleachers. That should have been a warning sign by itself. Rachel hadn't called, visited, or even sent a card since Sherry was admitted. That definitely wasn't like her. Chris dredged her mind for anything she might have missed.

"Ok, ok, I'll go out with you!" House's voice boomed, as he pulled back the curtain. "Just stop hurting yourself!"

Chris just glared at him. At least no one was expecting her to laugh at his inappropriate joke. That was good, because she didn't think she could remember laughing well enough to fake it.

"When was the last time you ate?" House asked.

"My blood sugar isn't low and I'm not anemic," she told him. "I'm fine, just discharge me."

"You fainted," House tried not to sound too concerned. It had taken her a little longer than normal to wake up. That was why the ambulance was called, in the first place. He knew it was likely because she hadn't eaten or slept properly in days, or from hitting her head. Unfortunately he also knew the twelve thousand other, much scarier things it could be.

"I'm awake now," she argued.

"It could be a sign of something serious. I'm going to test for…"

"It's just stress. I'm already out a couple grand for the ride here. I can't afford a bunch of tests, just to prove to you that I was having a bad day."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Seriously, is _your_ blood sugar low?" What kind of stupid question was that? What was wrong? Everything was wrong. He knew that.

"People don't faint on Wednesday, from trauma that happened on Sunday. What happened today?"

She took a deep breath. Was it possible he didn't know about Rachel, or was he protecting her, in her fragile state, in case she hadn't heard yet? She opened her mouth but couldn't find the words to say that someone else was in the hospital because of her, that her friend might be dead by now, for all she knew.

"You just heard about Rachel?" House put the words in her mouth for her.

"Yeah," Chris nodded. "Is she-ok?"

"It's a standard overdose. It looks like she took everything in the medicine cabinet. They pumped her stomach and gave her charcoal."

"I need to see her."

"Give us some blood for labs and I'll release you." He surprised her by agreeing and not pressing the matter. "I'll run the tests under a fake name. You'll never see a bill."

"Thank you." She meant it, but she couldn't hold his eye as she said. This small kindness on his part was like the proverbial straw. Instead of putting it on her, he'd removed it. He'd relieved just enough pressure to keep her back from breaking, and let her breath.


	10. Hobbies

TITLE: Chapter 9 Hobbies

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: mild/implied House/Chris

RATING: PG13-ish

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: What was Chris supposed to do now?

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

Chris went to Rachel's room, as soon as she could get away, but Rachel didn't want any visitors and Chris couldn't bear sitting with her family, for very long. She went back to her mother's room, only to be informed that Sherry had been moved upstairs to the psyche ward. At the psyche ward she was told, that it was standard procedure for patients not to have visitors, after a violent episode, until they had been evaluated by a doctor.

"She's seen a dozen doctors," Chris protested. The woman behind the window gave her a confused look and then offered to let her speak to the nurse. Chris just nodded. When the nurse came out to the hall to speak with her, she almost did a double take. She recognized him from around the hospital. He had always stood out to her, because he bore a strong resemblance to one of her attackers.

Chris shook her head while she listened to the nurse. He explained that Sherry had become hysterical and attacked him almost as soon as she was brought to the floor. Chris tried to explain that he resembled someone from her mother's past, but this only seemed to annoy him. He thought she meant because he was black, but he really did look like the other man. The more she tried to explain, the less he seemed to listen. When she suggested that another nurse be assigned to her mother's case, he just sneered at her and said he needed to get back to work.

It was after hours, and Chris had no choice but to accept that she wouldn't see her mother that night. She would go over the nurse's head, the next day and make sure he was taken off her mother's service. She didn't really care if he thought she was a racist bitch. Any further outbursts would only hurt her mother's case.

Chris knew she should go home, but she just didn't want to. She tried to study, but couldn't concentrate. It didn't help that she already knew the material and was just reviewing for finals. She started walking and found herself in front of House's office. The odd paper floor lamp was on, and he was reclined in the chair in the corner.

"She attacked a nurse." Chris said as she walked into the room.

"Rachel?" House asked.

"My mom," Chris told him. She went around the desk and sat in his chair, wondering if that would bother him, but not caring enough to let it stop her. "She thought he was someone else. She's not just randomly attacking people."

"Who did she think she was attacking?"

"A guy…" she paused, sifting through memories she generally avoided, "one of the guys from the trial."

"You mean one of your attackers?" House asked.

"Yeah," she leaned forward in the chair and inspected the tiny animal skulls and other random crap on the desk, before picking up the oversized tennis ball. "He testified against the others and got some kind of deal. This nurse really does look like him. He's even got a scar on his nose. I noticed him months ago."

"But you didn't attack him," House pointed out.

"Yeah," Chris sighed. "I didn't know she was this far gone. I would have watched her. I could have …"

"No, you couldn't. You did everything you could. It just wasn't enough. That's why we have hospitals."

She looked up at him for first time since she sat down. "If she was eighty, no one would even question me wanting to take care of her."

"If she was eighty, taking care of her wouldn't be a life sentence."

Chris didn't respond. She didn't have the energy even for one of their fun, petty arguments, much less a real one, especially when she knew he was right. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but she wished he would just talk. She didn't care if he told her about the weather, or read her the phone book. She just wanted to know that he was there.

"I don't know what I'll do," Chris said after a while, "if she's gone, and I graduate, and I have ten thousand dollars."

"Disney World?" House joked, and then wondered if she was old enough to remember those commercials.

Chris offered him something similar to a smile, but couldn't muster up the real thing.

"You'll find a hobby."

"Like knitting?"

"Something fun… square dancing or bomb building," House grinned.

"Sword swallowing?" she asked.

"Erotic poetry writing," he offered. "I think Wilson's taking a class on Thursdays."

Chris's laughter surprised her, but it felt good. As much as she hated the "damsel in distress" theme that their relationship had developed, she couldn't deny that he had helped. He'd been there for her, with a cup of coffee or an inappropriate joke, every time she needed it the most and expected it the least. Whatever it said about her, she didn't want to give that up.

The next couple of weeks flew by, for the most part. Between finals, jobs, and trying to keep in touch with her mother's doctors and lawyers, she didn't have that much time to worry. She kept up her volunteer hours and even covered a few of Rachel's. She applied for a few entry-level clerical and housekeeping positions at the hospital, and basically any other full-time jobs near the bus route.

Sherry was transferred to a state hospital after a few days. Chris protested but there was no wiggle room. Her mother wasn't fit to be in jail, and the "criminally insane" only had one option while awaiting trial. She tried calling a few times. She couldn't tell if it was from the medications or the physical distance, but her mother seemed farther and farther away each time they spoke. The doctors and staff soon grew weary of her daily calls and stopped responding promptly.

Rachel was in a private hospital. Her parents answered Chris's questions when she called, but they insisted that Rachel didn't want any visitors from school. Rachel reinforced the sentiment by not returning any of Chris's messages.

She decided that if her mother wasn't released, she would do exactly what she wanted, and that was to get the hell out of Jersey. She filled any spare time she had, looking into study abroad programs, flight attendant jobs, and cruise ship opportunities. She even applied to the Peace Corps and a few mission trips; even though she knew she was under-qualified for them.

This was how Chris learned what it meant to be truly alone. She'd felt alone for a very long time, but she hadn't ever been literally by herself, not like this. Nights were unnerving. She could keep busy during the day, but at night she ran out of things to do, besides think and feel guilty.

If not for the nights, she might have avoided everything that she was feeling. Even though it was a bad neighborhood, she'd never felt unsafe there. Now she jumped when a car backfired, and double checked the locks at night. She couldn't relax. One night she spent hours imagining how Tommy had gotten into the house, and what exactly had happened after that. She had finally made herself read a book, knowing she could drive herself crazy with thoughts like that.

Then the unthinkable happened. The man she house sat for called to tell her he wouldn't need her that weekend, because his wife was coming into town. This left Chris with literally nothing to do between getting home from school on Friday and going back on Monday. With no Internet and no cable at the house, she quickly tired of all her entertainment options.

That's when she started cleaning. Not just normal cleaning either, this was obsessive moving the furniture and scrubbing the baseboards with a toothbrush cleaning. She went through each room. First moving everything out, and then scouring from top to bottom, before finally replacing only the things they needed. There was a trash heap the size of a car on the curb when she was done.

Sunday night after everything was back in its place, she walked through to admire her work. She began with a sense of accomplishment, but it quickly turned to a fiery anger. The grout was still gray between the broken and stained tiles. The carpet was spotted, the wood was scratched, and the walls were yellowed. Everything was still crap. Nothing she did could change any of that.

As she stepped into the kitchen her anger burned into rage. The first thing that she saw was an old metal card table. The cream colored vinyl was ripped and pulled up, at three of the four corners. Two of the black legs had red and pink stripes, where she and Sarah had painted them with nail polish. Chris upended the table and slammed it against the wall, sending its contents flying across the room. It clattered to its side, propped up by one of the folding chairs that were under it.

Chris took the chair and swung it at the table. She swung and swung, until she broke through the cardboard and vinyl. Then she beat the aluminum frame and legs until they were something between modern art and scrap metal. Exhausted she threw down the chair, and collapsed on the tile floor. Her face was wet with tears she hadn't noticed falling, and when she looked at what was left of the table, she wept harder.

She wasn't crying for the table, or because she'd done something so insane. She couldn't stop thinking that no one would miss that table. No one else remembered eating dinner on it, or building forts under it. No one was going to come home and ask her "_Hey what happened to the table?_" Nothing she did could change that either.

That night instead of crying herself to sleep, she let herself think of House. She often thought back to their kiss, and what might have happened if he hadn't stopped her, but this was different. This was a full on fantasy, purely for the purpose of escaping reality.

She imagined he had been at the door when she took that first swing at the table, and that he had broken in, fearing for her safety. When he found her bashing the life out of a hunk of metal, he would take the chair from her and toss it aside, then take her in his arms and kiss away her tears. When he knew that she was alright, he would pull her to the ground and make love to her, right there on the semi-sparkling tile floor. Then he would hold her and say that he loved her. He would say that he was tired of being alone too. Then he would ask her to come home with him and tell her that she never had to come back here.

It was a lovely fantasy, a lot like a Disney movie. It got her through the night, but in the morning she was as ashamed of the fantasy as she was of the mangled remains of the table. From that night on she avoided her house at all costs. She'd prefer a nap on the bus to another night in her bed. She felt more at home at the hospital than anywhere else, and House didn't seem to mind the distraction, when she stopped by to steal food or watch his little black and white TV, as long as he didn't have a case.

She never told a soul about her fantasy. She didn't mention kissing him or wanting to do it again. She wasn't sure if she was more afraid he'd agree or that he'd reject her. Mostly she was just tired. Watching soaps and bickering was comfortable. She didn't know if she could take losing that comfort if she tried, and failed, to start something more.

The last day of school, also happened to be the day of the awards luncheon. Chris wore a navy blue sleeveless dress that was cut in a deep V to the middle of her back. She chose it for the modest front neckline and length as much as the decent fit. With her hair pinned up in a simple twist, and tall black faux leather boots on, she looked and felt like a different person walking the halls one last time.

The awards lunch was mercifully uneventful. She was relieved when five other students were called to the stage with her. They all shook Cuddy's hand, were handed a certificate, and ushered off the stage. She took a sigh of relief and a few more bites of her free meal, before slipping, unnoticed out of the conference room's side door.

She pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it, as she rode the elevator to House's floor. Thirteen sat alone at the table, in the room where they did their differentials.

"Where is everyone? Did you get a case?" Chris asked her.

"House went home early. The guys scattered pretty soon after he left."

"Oh ok, Thanks," Chris tried not to sound disappointed and turned to leave. She'd just wanted to see his face, when she walked in dressed like a girl.

"Hey, what are you doing for Christmas?" Thirteen unexpectedly asked.

"Uh-nothing." Chris was a little nervous where this might be going. It was bad enough when actual charities reached out to her during the holidays, she didn't know what she'd do if random acquaintances started doing it too.

"A guy in my building is looking for someone to house sit, until the first. I don't know what he's paying, but I thought you might be interested?"

"Yeah definitely, where's your building?"

Thirteen gave her the address and phone number. As Chris was thanking her and about to leave, House walked in the door behind her. Before he could speak he was distracted by Chris's hair down around her shoulders, and the perfect skin of her back, peeking from beneath it. It wasn't that she didn't fill out her usual jeans, but the A-line dress drew his eye to her curves. He might have run his fingers over the silver buttons at the small of her back if she hadn't turned to face him, and broken the spell.

"We've got a case. Make copies of that." House tossed Thirteen a file. "Page the others."

"On it," Thirteen was already reading the file and making her way towards the copy room.

"Were you two exchanging digits?" House asked Chris.

"It's a job lead." She felt both flustered and validated by his eyes on her. "Today was the awards lunch."

House nodded. "Does this mean your volunteer days are over?"

"I think I'll try for the award next year, unless I get a job here. We'll see." She thought his face brightened a little.

"Turn around," House said.

"Excuse me?"

"Your tag is out."

"Oh," she pulled her hair over one shoulder as she turned, and smiled to herself. "Ok."

"Hmm?" his finger traced over her spine and made her whole body tense. He pressed the pad of his finger to the first of the silver buttons, "my mistake."

"I know, there isn't a tag in the back."

She leaned back into his touch, until her shoulders were against his chest. His hand was still on the small of her back and he traced the other up her arm. She craned her head to one side, as he bent and let his stubbled face scratch her neck. Thirteen cleared her throat from the doorway. Chris pulled away and turned to face them both.

"I should go…" she tried to sound calm but couldn't quite think straight. "…call about that job."

House was grinning and Thirteen wasn't making eye contact. Chris got all the way to the door before House asked, "Do you want your bag?"

Chris pressed her eyes closed and wrinkled her nose before she turned around. "Yes, right, I'll be needing that." She sighed and picked up her backpack.

"Are you hungry?" House asked her.

"I could eat. Why? I thought you had a case."

"I'm going to be here all night and I haven't eaten." He pulled out a twenty and his keys. "I'll buy you dinner if you get me number seven from the Cactus Taco Stand."

She stared at him with a blank expression for a second; unsure whether she was being treated like an employee, a charity case, or this was an attempt at courtship. "You want me to drive your car across town, and get you tacos?"

"It comes with a chimichanga too." His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a new puzzle. Whether the puzzle in question was her or the new case was hard to determine.

"Ok." How could she say "no" to that face? Then she turned to Thirteen. "Do you want anything?"

As Chris was writing down their orders Chase and Foreman came in. She offered to get them something as well, and House rolled his eyes. "Can we talk about the patient yet?" She heard him ask as she left.


	11. Don't Stop

TITLE: Chapter 8 Don't Stop Believin

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY:

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK:

"Wow" Was all Chris could say as walked into the apartment. It was a giant loft on the top floor of the apartment building. The somehow bright gray walls made the space seem even bigger and the wall of windows facing the sunset usually offered a view of down town. At the moment it was skewed by a huge Christmas tree that was covered in white and silver trinkets and tinsel.

Thirteen's neighbor Charles Evans had checked her reference and returned her call on the same day. Now he was giving her the tour and explaining what he expected of her. Basically sleep there, no parties, no pets, guests where fine as long as she cleaned up after them.

He showed her the guest bedroom where she would stay. He explained how to work the timer on the lights. She was welcome to use the whirlpool and the kitchen as long as she cleaned up after herself. Use the gym or the tanning bed but please, clean up after herself. He gave her the key and wished her a happy holiday.

As the holidays drew nearer the hospital was less and less busy. Finally the volunteer coordinator suggested Chris just go home. No one expected her to be there at this time of year. The buses didn't run on Christmas Eve anyways, so she holed up in the fabulous apartment with a lot of ice cream and a bottle of sweet red wine that the man in the store suggested. She was on her second glass and not feeling lonely at all when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's Rachel"

"I know. How are you?"

"I'm ok. Where are you? I'm at your house."

"I'm house-sitting."

"Oh. Can I come over?"

"Um sure?" She gave her the address.

Twenty minute later Rachel was at the door in a fluffy white jacket and matching Ugg boots. When Chris opened the door Rachel hugged her and began to cry.

"I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Chris hugged her back.

"I didn't call and the thing with your mom. Oh Chris it's all my fault."

"It's not your fault. There's a lot of blame to throw around but none of it's yours."

"But Tommy…"

"Tommy was an idiot."

"Chris don't say that."

"I don't mean he deserved it, but he broke into our house. When you break into a home you have to accept the risk that whoever lives there might go off the deep end and hit you with a frying pan."

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah I'll be all right. I'm sorry I didn't know you were depressed. I'm glad you're ok. "

"Are we ok?" Rachel asked.

"Of course." Chris smiled at her.

"My dad's waiting in the car. Do you want to come over? You shouldn't be alone on Christmas."

"I've got to stay here. It's part of the whole house sitting thing."

"Oh right."

"Don't worry. I've got Ryan Reynolds to keep me company." She motioned at the TV.

Rachel laughed a little. "Ok. Well at least come down and say hi to my dad. He was really worried when you weren't home."

Chris walked Rachel out and assured Mr. McKenna that she was alive and well. She explained why she couldn't come over a few times before he accepted on the condition that she join them for Christmas dinner the next day. She agreed and they drove away.

As she was walking back into the building Thirteen was coming off the elevator. She smiled at Chris.

"Hey. I was just looking for you. Are you doing anything tonight?" Thirteen smiled at her

"Not really." Chris once again worried where this might lead.

"I'm going to a party at Wilson's. You should come."

"I don't want to crash his party."

"He specifically said to invite you if I saw you. He was looking for you yesterday."

Chris wasn't sure if it was the Christmas spirit or just the wine but she agreed. "Oh. Ok, sure. Can we run upstairs for a minute? I left the lights and stuff on."

"Of course."

Chris left Thirteen standing in the living room while scrambled to change clothes. First she put on the short dress she'd been wearing the night Tommy drugged her. With jeans it didn't look nearly as skanky, but she made the mistake of looking in the mirror while she brushed her teeth, and couldn't go through with it. She pulled on a faded red t-shirt with the image of Santa Clause on a chimney top and the words "Don't Stop Beleivin".

When they walked into the small party there was a short pause in the conversation and bustle. Foreman and Chase were there, Chase with a long legged redhead on his arm, as well as a few of Wilson's colleagues from oncology. Wilson greeted them warmly and took their coats.

Thirteen wore a silver tunic with a delicate black lace insert on the back and black leggings. Chris thought she looked like she belonged on the Christmas tree in her temporary living room, and wished she'd had the nerve to wear the dress.

"House is around here somewhere. He's searching for the bourbon I hid from him." Wilson told Chris as he led them towards the kitchen where there was an array of snacks and drinks. "Do you like mushrooms?"

"Sure."

"Try these." He pointed to a plate of dainty taquitos type wraps that were arranged in a sunburst around a cup salsa.

She tried one. "That's delicious."

"They're vegan." House grumbled. He was rummaging through the refrigerator.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive." Chris told him.

"I thought you liked meat." House smirked.

Wilson saved her from having to respond. "Don't mind him. I had to get him drunk to keep him here. What can I get you to drink? Wine?"

"She doesn't drink." House told him. He was staring at her. Chris would have been thrilled if she didn't feel an obligation to join the rest of the party. She could only hope that House's attentions would be spread more evenly among the larger group.

"I'm not morally opposed. I just don't have the opportunity very often. Wine would be lovely." She told Wilson.

"Red or White?"

"White, thank you."

"Cheap date." House observed.

"Cheap shot." She grinned. "You're wittier when you're sober."

"You've never seen me sober."

"To House a cheap date is anyone that doesn't charge by the hour." Wilson handed Chris a glass of wine and gave House a look that she couldn't read.

"Only if you need more than an hour."

Wilson suggested they join the others in the living room and Chris followed him. When she looked to see if House was coming she saw him moving down the hall away from the party. Wilson introduced her to the guests she hadn't met offering a charming anecdote about each one. Chris didn't realize being a temp was charming, but it certainly was when he described it.

She began to get a picture of what drew House and Wilson together. They were both master manipulators, the only difference was that Wilson chose to use his powers for good. He artfully twisted the conversation away from touchy subjects and gave each guest moments to shine with open ended questions crafted just for them.

It didn't take long to realize that everyone there had nowhere else to be during the holidays. They were all single, not counting Chase and his swimsuit model, and for one reason or another unable or unwilling to be with their families. She was surprised that House left Wilson with enough energy to take in other strays.

After they'd all eaten Wilson mentioned to Chris that there was an ashtray on the terrace if she wanted to smoke. She wondered if there were any addictions he wouldn't cater to, but appreciated it none the less. She pulled her coat on as she stepped out the door. House sat in a low patio chair with a decanter of bourbon in his lap and a glass in his hand.

"Aren't you going to offer me one?" He asked as she lit her cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I'm not morally opposed to it." He smiled.

She tossed him the pack with the lighter inside it and turned to look out at the wintery street below. He stood and arranged the bourbon on the table next his chair before lighting a cigarette. He came to lean against the railing and handed the box to her.

"I didn't know this was a set up when I agreed to come." She told him.

"I bet you didn't even know I'd be here." He said sarcastically.

"I didn't know. It doesn't seem like your scene, but it is Wilson's party."

"Then why'd you come?"

She shrugged. "It sucks being alone at Christmas."

"It's the same as being alone the rest of the year."

"Then maybe it just sucks to be alone." They looked out at the skyline. "I had some wine before Remy found me. That probably has more to do with it than anything."

"How much wine?" He smiled and shifted towards her.

"Just a couple glasses and a third here."

His smiled broadened. "You're as drunk as I am."

She laughed and shook her head. "Not even close."

"Too bad." He was looking down at her, but his eyes went right through her.

Chris could feel her chance slipping away. She sensed something in his mind pulling him back as quickly as the alcohol had pushed him towards her. Could he really think she'd need to be drunk to welcome his advances? How much more obvious could she be? Afraid he would turn away, she places her hand on his shoulder to hold him there.

"At least one of us will remember this."

She pressed her lips to his, and then opened her eyes to see his reaction, but she didn't need to. Almost instantly his body engulfed hers with so much force that if not for the railing he would have been holding her upright. He arched over her until she had to tilt her head to keep his mouth on hers. He tasted like bourbon and their forgotten cigarettes.

His fingers were numb from the drink and the cold and it took longer than it should have to open her coat and slide his hand under her shirt. She jumped when they found her skin. "How long have you been out here? Your hands are freezing."

"They'll warm up." He cupped her breast and kissed her again. She gasped when his other hand slipped between her thighs. "See, it's very warm here."

"You're not getting laid out here."

"We could do it on Wilson's bed."

She laughed. "I don't think so."

"Don't be a tease." He felt her body stiffen.

"Don't be a dick." She hissed. He pulled away. Her body felt heavy and cold as she readjusted to standing on her own. She hugged herself trying to recapture the warmth.

"Sorry. I thought that's what you were looking for." He turned and went into the apartment. Chris was left wondering how on earth that had gone so terribly wrong.

"_I didn't mean to do it, but there's no escaping your looove. Nooo. These lines of lightning mean we're never alone, never alone."_ Chris turned off the water and lowered her voice a bit. "_Come on, come on. Mooove a little closer. Come on, come on. I wanna hear you whisper." _She wrapped the towel around herself and grabbed the empty shampoo sample she'd used. "_Come on, Come on. Settle down inside myyyy_AHHHHH!" She yelped the last syllable.

House was perched on the counter where she'd left her back pack. "Inside your what?"

She clutched the towel round her chest. "How long have you been sitting there?" She was turning bright red.

"Oh long enough." He smirked at her.

"Sorry. I've been listening to my 'House is dreamy' mix too much lately." She really hoped he was bluffing and that he had missed her Love in an Elevator – Toxic medley.

"Are you a clepto?" He asked.

"What? No. What do you think I stole?"

"Food. Water. Shampoo."

"I work here for free. They can afford to let me use the shower and I brought my own." She tossed the shampoo bottle at him. He dodged it and it clanged against the mirror behind him.

"What are you doing here so late?"

"The same thing I'm always doing when you ask some variation of that question."

"How are you getting home? The buses stopped hours ago."

"Why you want to give me a ride?" She made it sound as dirty as possible.

"I could."

"Are you going to let me get dressed first?" She laughed and reached for her bag.

"No." House raised his cane keeping her from moving past him.

"No?"

He angled his cane against her back pulling her towards him and let the index finger of his free hand ghost along her exposed hip. Her stomach fluttered and she stepped closer until she was pressed against his open thighs. He kissed her. She let the hand that wasn't holding her towel curl into his hair and he wrapped his arms around her waist. She moaned as their bodies collided.

"You have the worst timing." She breathed not letting him go. "Rachel's on her way."

He ran his lips in a slow line down her neck and shoulder. "She can play too."

"She's seventeen and fuck you." She bit her lip as he kissed her collarbone.

"Blow her off." His stubble scraped the top of her breast.

"She's taking me to work." She kissed his ear, his cheek, his chin.

"Call in." He kissed her lips harder and slipped his tongue across hers.

She broke the kiss but didn't pull away. "They just hired me back."

"Where are you going to work at ten o'clock?" He leaned back to watch her face.

"I'm just a hostess. It's a hundred dollars a night under the table."

He just watched her and waited for a real answer.

"Diamond Nights." She admitted and hid her face in his shoulder.

He just laughed. "Naughty naughty."

"Shut up." She groaned as he began kissing her shoulder again. "I have to get dressed. Rachel will be here in like five minutes."

"I can get you off in three." He slipped a hand under the towel and grabbed her ass.

She bit her lip again and considered this option before shaking her head. "No. I'll want to take my time."

House groaned but she couldn't tell if it was from pleasure or frustration.

She finally pulled away from him and grabbed her bag. "Rain check? Please?"

He grunted.

She moved towards the first stall.

"I can't even watch?" He pouted.

"I'd hate to make things any harder." She winked and shut the stall door.

House sat on the low wall that separated his balcony from Wilson's. He'd been sitting there for close to an hour deep in thought. Wilson had seen him, but opted to leave him be. When Chris found him he didn't even look up at her.

"I've got half an hour to kill." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Can you make me cum ten times?"

"I'm busy. I have a patient."

"Are you mad because I left the other night? I really had to …"

"I'm not being coy! Go away." House barked.

Her mouth fell open and she huffed. "Fine. Hit me up when you're off your rag."

She stormed back through his office and out the door. Wilson, who had seen this exchange, came out of his office as she walked past.

"Chris." He called after her looking over his shoulder.

"Yes?" She turned to him.

"Do you have a minute… to talk?" He looked towards House's office.

"Sure." She came back towards him.

"Um not here. Let's take a walk." Wilson shut the door behind him.

"Ok?" She gave him an odd look but walked with him anyways. "Is there something wrong with the files I did?"

"No. No. You did a great job. That's why I recommended to Dr. Mathews."

He led her down stairs, to a lawn that wasn't visible from his office. Through the halls and down the elevator he made friendly small talk the way he so often did. Chris was starting to think he was going to hit on her when they were finally alone enough not to be overheard.

"What's going on between you and House?"

"Uh…" She gaped. "What did he say was going on?"

"He doesn't say much, but I've noticed things."

"I have no idea. He's like a damn Katy Perry song."

"Suuure?" Wilson didn't see the similarities.

"Hot, cold, up, down, in, out," She shook her head. "At least he's always right though."

Wilson laughed. "You should be honored. To most people he's just cold, down, and out… and yes always right."

"So what? I should just roll with the punches and not even call him on his shit?"

"By all means call him on it, but don't expect him to change. If you can roll with the punches that's great. It doesn't work for most people though."

"It works for you?"

"Yes usually, and my wives got all the normal friends when we divorced anyway."

"Do you give all his romantic interests this little pep talk?"

"It's more of a warning." Wilson shook his head. "You're under a lot of stress. A relationship with House is not going to simplify things."

"I don't need someone to simplify things for me."

"House isn't a neutral force. He _will_ add stress."

"I like it." She spoke as if confessing a crime. "I know that's not healthy, but bickering with him is better than sex with most people."

"I… don't know how to respond to that." Wilson laughed.

"I like him. He makes me laugh. He doesn't talk to me like I'm stupid. No, he talks to everyone like they're stupid, but he doesn't talk to me like I'm stupider than anyone else who isn't him."

"And that's appealing to you?"

"I guess so. That and he's just so cute." She was grinning.

"That is what I tell people." They both laughed

Chris was sitting on a bench in the parking lot smoking a cigarette and reading a Sherlock Holmes mystery. House walked up and sat next to her without a word. She turned to him just long enough to glare at him and then turned back to her book.

"Silent treatment?" He asked. She ignored him. "I'm a doctor. Sometimes I'm going to be too busy to play with you."

"You could have just said that."

"I did say that."

"You yelled at me."

"You weren't taking a hint."

She stood up and walked a few steps with her nose still in the book. House grabbed her wrist.

"Help I need an adult!" She shouted attracting glances from the few people within ear shot.

House let go of her hand and scowled. "How long is this going to last?"

She smiled behind her book. "I don't know. I'm sure you'll find some way to make it up to me. I like chocolate, and flowers, and oral sex." She winked down at him and walked away without another word.


	12. Hot Fudge

I'm sorry about the major delay in updating. My editor has had some personal struggles lately,and is no longer able to help me with this project. Then I found I'm pregant, and all things fandom got pushed to the back burner for a while. That said, I know I'm not going to get around to editing the rest of the story so I decided to post the rest of it as is. Please excuse any errors you find. As always I love feedback, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There are about 10 more chapters, and I'll make sure to note the last one as final.

Thanks for reading,

Raven

TITLE: Chapter 11 Hot Fudge

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R

WARNINGS: Dirty

SUMMARY: It's about damn time.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

If anyone had asked, House would have sworn he wasn't looking for her. He stopped by work on a Saturday, to get a book. Yes, he had lingered in his office for half an hour and taken the long way down to the lobby, past the cafeteria and the gift shop, but that didn't mean he was checking in on Chris. It was pure coincidence that he caught her closing up the gift shop.

"How long have you been here?" He asked her.

"I just covered the last two hours." She said.

He reworded the question. "When was the last time you went home?"

"Last night, why?" She shrugged.

"You were wearing that shirt under your sweater yesterday."

She could have been wearing the same shirt for dozens of reasons, but she couldn't think of any of them, at that moment. "Fine, I didn't go home. The guy I dog sit for doesn't care if I stay at his place. I stayed there last night."

"What about the night before that?" House asked.

How did he know? She'd been so careful, not to be seen. Could he really read that much from her shirt? "Fourth floor waiting room," she admitted.

House shook his head. "And tonight?"

Chris rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I thought I might sneak into an on call room. I know it's dumb. It's just that, I hate that house. I've always hated it and if I…"

House had heard enough. He motioned with his head, for her to follow, and continued walking towards the door. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Chris asked, already walking with him.

"My place."

Chris didn't protest about getting on the bike this time. She took the helmet from him, and sat behind him with a smile. She wrapped her arms around him as they took off, and wondered if he could feel her heart beating against his back. It startled her a little, when he pulled up onto the sidewalk to park. She didn't comment, as he led the way through the green door of the apartment building. She didn't realize she was holding her breath in anticipation, until he opened the door.

"Make yourself at home." House told her, as he hooked his cane on the crown molding and hobbled down the hall.

She was standing in House's house. Chris didn't move, but turned her head to watch his progress. She was thrilled to see him move around the apartment, with relative ease. He used chairs, tables, and even the walls for extra support but wasn't dependent on the cane. When he disappeared through a doorway, she tried to take in the room she was standing in. The first thing she saw was the piano, and she smiled to herself, imaging him sitting there playing it.

She had almost expected his home to be an extension of his office, but the apartment was much warmer than she'd imagined. As she looked around the room, she realized that there were books, journals, and magazines everywhere. It wasn't cluttered, but almost every surface held some sort of reading material. That explained how he knew so damn much.

He came back down around the corner, and then disappeared again, this time into the kitchen. He called out, to ask if she wanted a beer. She declined as she inspected the medical journals on the coffee table.

House returned and put an ashtray in front of her. Chris put her pack of cigarettes next to it, but didn't light one. He was retreating down the hall again, when she called after him.

"I guess I'll take the couch." She said with a mostly straight face.

He turned back to her with his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed in confusion, until he saw the twinkle in her eye. "Oh, shut up." He shook his head and turned into the bedroom.

She kicked off her boots, tucked them under the table, and unclipped her hair before following him. House sat at the foot of the bed taking off his shoes. Chris stood in the doorway, torn between watching him and surveying his bedroom for the first time. When he looked up at her, and invited her in, with a wave of his hand, she felt her stomach twisting in giddy little knots.

She started to say something, but remembered how words had failed them in the past, and decided to act instead. Standing in front of him, just an arm's length away, she grabbed the bottom of her shirt, pulled it over her head, and let it fall to the ground beside her. She held his gaze, measuring his reaction to her body, as she unclasped her bra and let it drop near her shirt. Complicated and brilliant as he was, at that moment, the deepest thought in his mind was: "_Yay boobs!_", and it was written in a smile, all over his face.

House reached for her, and she moved into his arms. He kissed her breasts, then between them, and a line down her stomach, until he reached her belly button. She unzipped her jeans, and House let his hands follow the trail of freshly exposed skin, as she pushed them down past her knees. She kicked them aside as House kissed her hips and thighs, his fingers tracing lines down her back and across her butt.

She pulled his face to hers, and kissed his lips, groping for the hem of his shirt, and pulling it carefully over his head, as their tongues met. Her fingers greedily explored his skin. His chest was solid, with just enough hair to run her fingers through, and as she did she almost couldn't believe this was finally happening. She leaned down to kiss his neck and shoulder. She hesitated, reaching for his lap, not sure what exactly might bother his leg.

He knew what she was thinking, and took a condom from his pocket, before pulling his jeans off. He held his breath, as he revealed his wound. He was prepared for a gasp or shudder, but no horror registered on her face, only a hint of sadness, when she cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. She kissed him, as if to say "_I want you, just the way you are_", and if she'd had more courage left, she would have knelt and kissed his leg.

He pulled her to him again, and this time she straddled him, ever so carefully balancing on his left side and stretching her knee over his right leg. He cupped her ass and pulled her closer, as she pressed against him and kissed him again. She was shaking as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head and resisted the urge to bite her lower lip, "a little nervous."

"Why?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

"It's been a while and you're so…" She paused searching for the right word, and House braced himself for "mature", "experienced", or some other word synonymous with old. "…amazing." She finally said, looking at his mouth. "I'd hate to disappoint."

He smiled, truly surprised. "You couldn't, even if you tried." He kissed her softly.

She smiled against his lips. "So when do my three minutes start?"

"Now."

The sex was _that_ good. They had both expected it to be good. The relationship never would have developed to this stage, if there hadn't been such a strong attraction, but they hadn't anticipated this. This was like expecting an ice-cream sundae with chocolate syrup, and getting it with hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry instead. Chris had never even had hot fudge. Sure, she'd had sex, but nothing compared to this. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that House could read her mind. She tried not to think too hard, about how much practice it must have taken to reach his level of expertise.

He couldn't get over the way she reacted to him. It was even easier than usual for him to find the spot that made her breath catch, and a rhythm that made her legs shake. His every touch elicited a moan, gasp, or shudder from her. These were not the theatrical cries of a bored hooker. They were not the measure sighs of the sexually oppressed. This was just a girl, who liked sex, unabashedly enjoying it, with him. She made no effort to quiet herself, except for when she spoke in whispers or pressed face to his skin, and he doubted if she was even aware of what she was doing, or what it did to him.

He couldn't understand how a woman, who would not have asked for a ride to work in a snow storm, if the buses had stopped running, could beg him not to stop. When she breathed a desperate "Please!" against his neck, he had to struggle to contain himself, for the first time in years. Most women, once they'd reached a certain age, had been in enough relationships that they began to measure their orgasmic potential by that of their mate. For lesbians, there were no limits. Every other woman accepted one to two orgasms, for every one that her partner had. If she needed more than that she was on her own.

Chris had not gotten that memo. It never occurred to her that he might not want to continue. His fingers and lips worked perfectly fine, great in fact. So why not use them? House never got tired of giving her what she asked for. Though he couldn't match her climax for climax, he found that he did rise to the occasion, more often than he would have expected to be possible, thanks to her infectious enthusiasm.

House had only ever had hot fudge with Stacy, and that had taken a few months to perfect. After his leg, she had been almost afraid to touch him, letting her guilt bleed into the bedroom. Now he couldn't remember back to the great sex, without thinking of what it was like after his surgery.

Cuddy had come very close, in fact physically she was as good as anyone he'd ever had, but there had been something else lacking. He always had the feeling that her mind was only half there. He was forever competing for her attention, and proving that he deserved her. What drew him to her, after college, and Stacy, and so many years, had been the idea that someone who really knew him, and had known him for so long, could love him. In hind sight, he thought he might have had better lick with Wilson.

Now, this girl who barely knew him, who barely knew herself, saw something in him that even she couldn't explain. She didn't scowl at him when he took an extra Vicodin or tell him to take out the trash. She wouldn't ask for anything he couldn't give, because she didn't know how to receive anything more than this. She expected nothing from him, so that whatever he did right was a delightful surprise, and what he did wrong was fodder for their verbal brawls.

He flopped back on the bed, and pulled her down against his chest. She fell on top of him, panting even harder than before. After a while she raised her head enough to kiss him and look him in the eye.

"Did you learn that in med school?" She grinned.

"You could say that." House smirked back.

"Can we do it again?"

House woke unusually early for a Sunday morning. A light rain fell against the windows and the clouds made the room darker than it should have been at eight in the morning. Chris lay next to him with one knee pulled almost to her chest and one fist curled around the pillow. She had clearly lost, but not forsaken, the battle for covers during the night. Only a corner of the sheet was draped over her hips, and she held it there with one hand.

House watched her without a move or a sound. When she opened her eyes and looked across the pillow at him, a smile lit up her face. She burrowed under the sheet and wrapped herself around him, giving a content sigh and closing her eyes again.

"Where do you have to be today?" House asked.

She thought for a moment and replied with a yawn, "nowhere."

"Are you observing the Sabbath?"

"Sometimes I babysit. I used to go to the Laundromat and the grocery store, but I don't need any food. I did laundry on Wednesday because I didn't have anything else to do." She could not explain how hard it was to fill her free time.

"What do you want to do?"

"Hmm?" She pondered and smiled up at him. "You?"

"I'll get some little blue pills on Monday, but we may have a few hours of downtime today."

"Is that safe?"

"Down time?"

"Viagra? You know, since you don't really _need_ Viagra."

"No, that's not safe." House shook his head.

"Oh, you shouldn't take that then." She tried not to look disappointed.

House laughed and kissed the top of her head. Chris slid off of him and propped herself up on one arm so that she was looking down into his eyes.

"Sex first," she said.

House nodded.

"Then we should have pancakes."

"Pizza can be delivered."

"I'll make the pancakes, assuming you have all the stuff. If not, I'll just lick syrup off you until you're ready for phase three." She winked at him.

"I like your plan." House pulled her down and kissed her.

"Wait, you haven't heard phase three yet."

"Unless there's an ant hill involved, I think I get the general idea."

"Yeah but after we've replenished our strength with carbs and corn syrup, I want rough, dirty, embarrassing bruises in the morning sex."

House sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh really?"

"Yep." She nodded and leaned down to nibble his earlobe. "Maybe in the kitchen?"

Chris tried not to make a face when she walked into the kitchen, wearing House's t-shirt from the night before. There was a crusty pan on the stove and dishes piled in one side of the sink. His pantry was pretty well stocked, but the fridge held nothing but beer, condiments, expired milk and questionable eggs.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" He said as he came in behind her.

"It smells like you."

"I smell like me even more."

"You wouldn't, after I made a shirt out of you." She teased, and moved a stack of pizza boxes to get to the pantry.

"The maid quit." House told her.

"Hey, I wasn't judging you out loud." She rummaged through the shelves. "You've got the mix. All we need is milk… if those eggs are good."

"The syrup's in the fridge. You should warm it up a little, before you get started." House smirked.

"I'll go get the milk. You can stay here and recuperate." She set the box of baking mix on the counter.

"Just give me your keys and your wallet. I will have to put pants on though."

"I'll go."

"I could come with you." She offered.

"That's a terrible idea. Then we'd both have to put on pants." He swatted her on the butt.

She squealed. "Hurry back."

She started cleaning the dishes she knew she would need for making breakfast, as he got ready to go. When he locked the door behind him, she did what any normal person would do; snoop through his stuff. She found several prescription pain killers and decongestants in the medicine cabinet as well as the usual over-the-counter stuff. The drawer of his bed side table held condoms, lube, and a few dirty magazines. She inspected the pages for wear and stains, the brunette schoolgirl seemed to be a favorite.

When he returned she was standing by the tallest bookshelf, smoking a cigarette, and reading the titles. She was amused and impressed to find everything, from H.P. Lovecraft to the Federalist Papers, mixed in among the endless medical tomes. His books were in no order that she could discern, but she was certain that if she moved one, he'd notice. House held out a sack and a carton of milk. She put out her cigarette and took the goods to the kitchen.

"You could have mentioned you have a waffle iron." She called through the doorway.

"You wanted pancakes."

"That's because I didn't think you'd have a waffle iron." She said.

"It's Wilson's, and I'm not going back to the store." He told her, as he joined her in the kitchen.

"No need, same ingredients." She found a fresh pack of Camel Lights as she unpacked the eggs. "Ooh the good stuff."

"In case I want one. Yours are disgusting."

"Your face." She said without looking up at him, while she cracked the eggs over the mixing bowl.

"My face?" He asked.

"Yeah, you know, it's like 'your mom' but safer if you don't know if a person's mom is a touchy subject."

"Right," House nodded and set the syrup and peanut butter on the counter next to her. "My mom is not a touchy subject."

"Good to know," Chris sprayed the waffle iron, "but if it's not your mom… what _is_ wrong with you?"

"Your face."

She laughed and slopped a scoop of batter onto the iron. She poured a glass of milk and offered it to House. He declined, and she kept it for herself. "Whole milk?" She asked after she tasted it.

"You didn't specify." He said.

"I like it, but the one in the fridge is two percent."

"It was this or skim." He lied.

"Good choice then." She opened the iron. "Hey look, it's a waffle."

House gave a fake gasp. "Amazing."

She finished the waffles and they sat on the couch to eat. "Why do you keep your syrup in the fridge?"

She asked, as she poured some over her plate.

"It's organic or something. Wilson bought it."

She'd never tasted real maple syrup, much less organic real maple syrup. She read the label, as she took a bite, and moaned with her mouth full. "Oh my god, that's amazing"

"Try it with the peanut butter." House held a bite up for her.

She leaned over his plate and took the bite, then groaned and leaned back on the couch. "Mmmm, that's got to be the sex hormones. Nothing tastes that good."

"You're so cute…" Chris purred and rolled on top of him, "and sexy, and smart. Really, I don't know how anyone keeps their pants on around you."

They were in his bed. House was satisfied and relaxed with his eyes closed, but not quite dozing. She was kissing his neck and blowing in his ear. "Again?" He asked without opening his eyes.

"Please?" She begged, more for his benefit than hers.

"How can you still be horny?"

"I'm twenty-one, and it's been a long time, and it's never been this good. You're actually really lucky. You must have been like Gandhi in another life."

He laughed and pushed her over so he could roll on top of her. "Ok, one more. Keep telling me how hot I am."

"Mmm, you're a freaking rock star."


	13. Sick

I'm sorry about the major delay in updating. My editor has had some personal struggles lately,and is no longer able to help me with this project. Then I found I'm pregant, and all things fandom got pushed to the back burner for a while. That said, I know I'm not going to get around to editing the rest of the story so I decided to post the rest of it as is. Please excuse any errors you find. As always I love feedback, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There are about 10 more chapters, and I'll make sure to note the last one as final.

Thanks for reading,

Raven

TITLE: Chapter 12 Sick

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris(OC)

RATING: R

WARNINGS: Dirty

SUMMARY: You can't get too much of a good thing.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

Chris collapsed in front of the sofa, and could have slept there, with her face against the leather all night. House landed somewhere behind her, probably near where the coffee table had been, before he shoved it out of their way. He was taking heavy breaths and an extra pain pill. His hand, sliding over her bare back, was the only thing keeping her awake.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asked.

Tomorrow? Was that his subtle way of telling her to leave? Was he even capable of being that subtle? How long had she been there? Had the pizza been lunch or dinner? What time was it? He was still waiting for her response. "Just job hunting, I might go to the library." She answered casually.

"So you could make breakfast again?" He asked.

Only the dust bunnies, under the couch, saw her huge smile. Apparently he could be subtle. She was on his right side, so she took extra care when she rolled to face him, and pressed her upper body against his. When she stretched one leg over him, her foot collided with the coffee table. She winced, and they both laughed, until she found her footing, and climbed on top of him. Her tousled hair cascaded around him, as she leaned down to press her mouth to his.

When his hand slid between them she moaned, and when it found its target she whimpered. She leaned back, making a show of running her hands up and down her body and rubbing her breasts for him. House nodded his appreciation, while he watched. She came with a soft gasp and a loud moan and let her head fall back, limp and barely able to keep herself upright.

"Come here." He beckoned pulling at her thighs.

"I just did." She smiled. He pulled her forward until he could kiss her thighs. "House, I don't think I can…" She gasped again as his tongue found her.

She shuddered, her toes clenched, and her fingers curled in his hair. It was all she could do to keep her balance, but she was determined to keep his mouth right where it was. This really wasn't safe. She was afraid she'd snap his neck or smother him, if she lost control, and if he kept that up, God, was she going to lose control.

When she came again, the neighbors heard her howl his name. She propelled herself forward, almost to the piano, to keep from landing on him, and then lay flat on her stomach, catching her breath. Her muscles twitched and her heart pounded. House was still between her legs and inching his way up her body. He kissed the back of her knee, her thigh, and her ass.

Then she felt a too familiar feeling. His weight seemed to crush her deeper into the floor. She shot up, pushing him aside, and made herself walk, not run, to the restroom. She shut the door as gently as she could, but it still seemed very loud.

She took a deep breath, and mustered up years of therapy and cognitive reasoning skills. This was not a panic attack. She knew the difference. This felt like a panic attack, but panic attacks felt like heart attacks, while you were having them.

She was safe. House was safe. He wouldn't hurt her. That had been a good touch, a very good touch actually. She sighed. She should have seen it coming or warned him before he ever got that close. Now he knew what a nut job she was. She looked in the mirror. At least she wasn't crying. When she cried her brown eyes turned golden caramel, and there was no hiding it. She would just go out and act like nothing happened.

"Should I pee in the sink?" House asked through the door, startling her out of her thoughts.

"No." Her voice only trembled a little, and she managed to make it sound like a laugh.

She flushed the toilet and washed her hands, for good show. She opened the door prepared for questions, or a dirty look, or a request that she get the hell out of his apartment, but the hallway was empty. She found him, in the kitchen, holding a beer in one hand and the pizza box in the other. Half a piece of cold pizza hung out of his mouth.

"Hhuhhhrrra?" He asked and held out the beer bottle. His smile made the pizza dangle, even more precariously from his lips.

She loved him at that moment. She loved him for not saying anything and for being a goofy idiot. She loved him so much that if she'd realized it then, she might have had an actual panic attack. Instead she took the bottle and the pizza box from him and set them aside. Then she took the slice from his mouth, and kissed the garlic powder off of his lips, before taking a bite and handing the pizza back to him.

That night when they were heading for bed, not that they'd been out of bed for very long, she pulled a spare sheet from his linen closet and took it with her into the bedroom. When he asked what she was doing she'd explained; this way they wouldn't have to fight for covers. He wasn't sure he liked her using a sheet without asking, but he did like not having to share.

When he woke in the morning, he really didn't like the extra sheet. Not only did it ruin his view of her body, now he had to sift through his sheet and hers to press himself against her. When this was accomplished, he woke her with a kiss.

"You brushed your teeth." He said. She just nodded against his shoulder. "You didn't brush your teeth yesterday morning?"

"I didn't wake up early enough, yesterday. What? Do you prefer the morning breath?"

He frowned and said "No, but I'm not getting up before dawn to brush my teeth."

"I didn't ask you to." She kissed him to prove her point. Really, she had only brushed because she wasn't sure how much time she'd have before he needed to leave for work. Now, she could be ready to leave in less than five minutes.

"It's a hint."

"No, it's really not." She kissed him longer and harder this time. He seemed to accept her argument, as he kissed her back. She wondered when they would kiss again. What if this was just a two night stand? What if this was the last time she'd ever get to kiss him? A slight dread fuelled her passion, as she stroked him and asked, "So how late can you be to work?"

"I was thinking of calling in." He said, kissing her neck.

"We will eventually have to leave the apartment again." Her voice was cool, but she couldn't hide her smile. "You wouldn't be as hot if you weren't a doctor."

He laughed, but looked up to make sure she was kidding. "So I should go to work?"

Chris just shook her head and wrapped her legs around him. At some point, after they made it out of the bed, House sent a mass text to Cuddy, Wilson, and his team that simply said "sick". No one even questioned this. They assumed that "sick" meant "hung-over" and went about their business.

Only Wilson called, and that was simply to see if House still wanted to go bowling that night. When there was no answer on the home phone or mobile, he decided he'd go over at lunch, to make sure House hadn't done anything especially stupid. He didn't really start to worry, until House didn't answer the door.

He used his key to let himself in, and called out a few times. When he saw the coffee table out of place he sighed. He looked down the hall and tried not to imagine what he might find. He always feared he would be the one to find his friend dead, after some night of debauchery. The fact that House still had the presence of mind to send a text message, a few hours ago, made that unlikely, but didn't completely ease his mind.

Wilson was both relieved and annoyed, but not shocked by the scene he found in House's bedroom. There was a full length mirror strapped to the foot of the bed, with bungee cords, and another large mirror propped against the wall on House's side of the bed. Wilson guessed that House, who rarely bothered to shave, only kept full length mirrors in the apartment for this type of scenario. He shook his head and gave a sigh of relief. He would have turned to leave, if House hadn't made a shushing noise at him.

House was on his back, at a slight angle, on the left side of the bed. A sheet covered him from his waist to his knees. The girl next to him was on her stomach. Her head was near House's feet. She had one leg tucked under her, and the other foot dangled off the bed. The sheet stretched across and barely covered her ass, and that was only because House had heard Wilson come in, and thought that the bright purple bruise would be too much information, even for his best friend.

"Sick?" Wilson asked in loud whisper.

"Not now, but what we were doing fifteen minutes ago, that was _sick_." House grinned.

Chris popped her head up, as if startled from her sleep, and twisted back to look at House. "Who are you talking to?" When she didn't see a phone in his hand she turned and looked up at Wilson. Her eyes grew wider, as she gulped and crossed her arms in front of her chest, as if any level of modesty could be recovered at that point.

Wilson tried not to look directly at her, once he realized it was her, and not just some hooker. The mirror next to House's side of the bed did not help him avert his gaze. He felt the need to say something, so that it didn't appear that he was just checking up on House. "Will you be well enough to bowl tonight?"

Everyone in the room, even House himself, was wondering if he would defer to Chris. Wilson thought he might, since whatever they had been doing was clearly more fun than bowling. House thought he might, but didn't want to do it in front of Wilson, because Wilson would read way too much into it. Chris didn't give him the chance. Skipping work was fun. Blowing off friends was something totally different.

"You should go. I have to help Rachel study for her SATs." Even if that had been true, she wouldn't have turned to say it to House's face, for fear of losing what little cover she had left.

House and Wilson exchanged nods that she still couldn't quite understand. Wilson confirmed that they were still on for the same time and place, and then offered her an awkward goodbye. When they heard the door shut and lock, she sat up and turned to face House. He was looking at her like she was an inconsistent lab result.

"What?" She asked. "It's chicks before dicks."

"That's always been my motto." House agreed and pulled her down next to him.


	14. Waffles

I'm sorry about the major delay in updating. My editor has had some personal struggles lately,and is no longer able to help me with this project. Then I found I'm pregant, and all things fandom got pushed to the back burner for a while. That said, I know I'm not going to get around to editing the rest of the story so I decided to post the rest of it as is. Please excuse any errors you find. As always I love feedback, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There are about 10 more chapters, and I'll make sure to note the last one as final.

Thanks for reading,

Raven

TITLE: Chapter 13 Waffles

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: R

WARNINGS: Dirty

SUMMARY: Chris finds out about House's Russian bride.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRACK:

Dominika had come to House's office, when she discovered that her key didn't work in the door to his apartment. Wilson and House's team had gathered to watch the show, as House explained to his bride, who he hadn't seen in months, that she wasn't keeping up her end of the bargain.

"The papers have already been filed." House said.

"Both parties have to present for an annulment." Wilson pointed out.

"Yeah I know," House scowled at him, "but she didn't need to. It doesn't matter it's already done."

"How?" Wilson asked.

"It turns out hookers will do almost anything for money. Even forge signatures."

Wilson pressed his hand to his brow as Chris walked into the room. She'd heard enough to get the gist of the situation, but she had to ask, to make sure they weren't doing some kind of improv therapy or rehearsing a play. She didn't look at House, but walked directly up to Dominika. She pointed at the Russian beauty. "Are you his wife?" She pointed to House without looking at him.

"Yes, this is my husband." The girl answered, and worked up a theatrical sob.

Now Chris turned to House and snarled, "You're married?"

"It's not…" House didn't bother trying to finish as Chris fumed.

"Married! I… I" She curled her fingers into fists, and clenched them at her sides. "I made you waffles!"

The spectators exchanged confused looks.

"Calm down, _she's_ never even made me a Poptart." He nodded to Domika.

"What?" Chris asked.

"It was a domestic arrangement…"

Understanding briefly replaced the anger on Chris's face. "You're maid quit? I can't believe you!"

"It doesn't matter. I got an…."

"It matters! I don't care what your vows mean to you. _I_ get to decide if_ I_ want to have… WAFFLES with a married man!"

House was silent.

"It was her milk wasn't it?" Chris accused.

House nodded. "Yeah."

Chris took a deep breath but it didn't help. "And_ Wilson's_ waffle iron, the syrup, were those hers too?"

"No, those are really Wilson's" The team turned to Wilson, who raised his arms as if surrendering and shook his head.

"I… I don't even care." Chris stormed out of the room and then turned on her heel and marched right up to House's chair pointing at him. "Don't you dare get that girl deported on account of MY waffles." She pointed to Dominika, who was paying too much attention to them, to fake her tears for the moment.

"Your waffles are good, but they're not _that_ good." House replied.

Chris grabbed the first thing she saw, a green file folder on his desk, and smacked him over the head with it. When he covered his head she got a few more smacks in on his shoulders before throwing the whole file at him. On her way out the door she turned to Dominika. The girl backed away from her, and Wilson and Foreman both prepared to pull them apart.

"Make him divorce you. You deserve compensation." Chris told the girl.

She walked out without another glance at any of them. They were all silent for a moment. Dominika stood pouting, and the team waited for an explanation or a dismissal.

"Do I want to know what 'waffle iron' is a euphemism for?" Wilson asked.

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter. It's just a waffle iron."

"Wait you have my waffle iron? I told you I got a new one, because I lost mine."

"I assumed you didn't need the old one at that point."

"That was my mother's waffle iron." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Don't you people have anything better to do?" House growled at everyone in the room.

"Don't you think you should go after her?" Wilson asked.

"You think I'm crazy? She'll be on the roof and I can't get there without a blunt object. With her family history of violent…" House was sifting through pile of mail on his desk, looking for some reason to end this conversation, when he paused.

"What?" Wilson tried to look at the envelope House was tearing open.

"It's official. You're free." House handed the document to his former bride. "Or you would be, if you'd been born in a free country."

He snatched the paper from her fingers and walked out. Dominika began to wail, but no one paid her much attention. House made his way to the roof, where Chris was chain smoking, just as he had predicted.

"Not now House." Chris's voice was calm now. Her face was puffy and her eyeliner was smudged under her eyes and down one cheek. House didn't speak but handed her the form.

"What is this?"

"Proof of annulment, and it's dated two days before we had sex."

"That's just swell." She handed it back to him.

"I wasn't married." House reasoned.

"That's not the point!"

"Then what was all that yelling about?"

"I don't care if you're married. I mean, I do care, but I could have gotten past a fake marriage, if you had just told me about it."

"It never came up. I didn't think it mattered."

"Sadly, I believe that, but you still lied." She stubbed her unfinished cigarette out. If he wouldn't leave she would.

"Everybody lies. I lied to protect you."

"Oh bullshit!" She railed on him. "You lied to protect yourself, so you wouldn't have this conversation."

House didn't respond. The conversation was turning. She was talking about his lies, but he knew she was thinking about something else.

"It doesn't matter House. We had fun. I should have known better."

"You're not allowed to have fun?"

"It's not the fun it's…" She took a deep breath. "It's stupid. If I don't do anything stupid nothing bad happens."

"Life doesn't work that way." So that was it. Survivors guilt was not her best look. She was being completely irrational. The rational response to him lying about being married was not guilt.

"How do you know? Have you ever stopped doing stupid crap long enough to see if it makes life easier?" She knew she sounded like a child, a stupid child at that, but it was true. When she only did what she was supposed to do life was easier, maybe not better or more fun, but definitely easier. She'd let him in anyways, and he hurt her. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "You are the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"I did go to Hopkins." House said.

"Don't make me laugh." She bit back a smile. "You're fifty. I'm twenty one. When I'm ready to settle down you'll be retiring."

"You'll be younger than I am now when I die." House nodded.

"Exactly," she thought she might cry again when he put it that way. "There's no way this could end well."

"Relationships never end well." House countered. "Someone dies. Someone cheats. Someone…"

"Marries a Russian skank so she can get a green card?" Chris offered.

"Yes." House nodded. "Best case scenario: both parties are so miserable, for so long, that they agree to go their separate ways without a fight."

Chris swallowed as she processed his words and then smiled ever so slightly. "That's your argument for us being together? All relationships suck?"

"If you judge a relationship solely on how it ends, then yes"

"That's a terrible argument." She laughed. It was terrible, but it was true, and if she was going be stupid and get hurt, she might as well do it with him. How was it that even though he always said the wrong thing, he somehow managed to say what she needed to hear?

"You're laughing." House was trying to follow her mood swings.

"I think your argument worked."

"You think?" He moved towards her cautiously.

She let him put his arm around her waist and pull her against his chest. "You're not getting waffles any times soon, but I might let you make it up to me."

"I know how you can make it up to me." Chris poked her head inside House's office to gage his mood.

"Oral sex?" He grinned up at her from his desk.

"You wish." She came in, and sat in one of the chairs across from Him. "Will you take me to see my mom? It's not that far, but the buses only go out there twice a day. If I have to stay at the psych ward for ten hours, they'll probably just keep me."

"Why me?" House asked.

"Because you're in the dog house, and you could use the brownie points? I just thought that…"

"I'll take you," House cut her off, "but you could have just asked to borrow my car or money for a cab. You could have asked Wilson. He loves this kind of crap. Why do you want me there?"

"Can I borrow your car then?" She deflected.

"No."

"Money?"

House didn't even bother responding to this.

"It's going to be bad. I don't know what they're doing up there, but she won't even come to the phone anymore." She sighed. "I'd rather go alone, but since I have to get a ride from someone, I'd like it to be you."

"Because we're sleeping together?"

"No, because you're emotionally retarded." She explained. "You won't try to be comforting. I won't have to pretend to be comforted. If we took the bike we wouldn't even have to talk at all."

House nodded.

She showed up at his apartment on Saturday afternoon, even though he'd offered to pick her up. They chatted easily on the ride up. House had brought a variety of entertainment. Chris brought several cases of Pepsi and an extra pack of cigarettes. She insisted that he didn't have to wait there whole time, but was pretty sure he would anyways.

She came out of the building almost exactly two hours after she went in. House was leaning against the side of the car, smoking one of her cigarettes, and watching his portable TV. She took the cigarette from him and took a drag.

"Terrible reception." House said, referring to the little TV, as he tried to read her almost blank, hard expression.

"You didn't have to wait here." She took another drag.

"I thought I should be here in case you wanted to leave early."

She gave a week smile that made her face somehow sadder than before. She stepped into him and kissed him hard. After a moment she took the TV from his hands and tossed it into the open car window.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him over and over. House put his arms around and kissed her back, without attempting to keep her frantic pace.

"Let's go somewhere." She kissed his neck and nibbled his ear. "Anywhere I can get you inside me."

"My place?" He offered.

She shook her head and pressed her body against his, still kissing him. "Too far."

"Car sex doesn't really do it for me."

"Just get in, I'll do all the work." She pressed her hand against his crotch and smiled up at him.

He moved her hand and looked up at the building. "You've overshot a little. This is more sad and desperate than hot."

She stepped back and stammered. "Ok, I'll go somewhere else next time I'm horny."

"You're not horny. You're sad. You just don't want to feel what you're feeling."

"Um yeah, that's pretty much the foundation of this relationship." She got in the car and slammed the door.

House got in and started the engine. They rode in heavy silence for about twenty minutes.

"You were right. She's better there. She looks better. They said she's eating better and sleeping better."

"That's a good thing right?" House asked.

"Yes but… she didn't need me."

"She'll always need you."

"No, I can't do anything for her." Chris shook her head. "If I had just gotten her help… maybe she…"

"You did everything you could."

"No, I didn't. I lied to her doctors and the caseworkers. I didn't want her locked up. I thought I was helping, but I just didn't want to be alone. She killed a man and they will never let her out, because I didn't want to be alone."

There was a long pause before House finally asked, "Is there anything that's not your fault? Did you shoot JFK?"

"I am not being overdramatic here. I am rationally aware of the limited amount of power I hold over reality, but I started it. If I hadn't been sneaking out my sister wouldn't have died. If I had…"

"If you're sister had stayed home, if your mom had locked you in your room, if a bunch of gangbangers hadn't brutally attacked both of you, then she wouldn't have died."

"Too far House." Chris swallowed. Her eyes were boring a hole through the dashboard.

"If your mom had kept her at home the day she went into labor …"

"She was working. She's a single mom. Sarah was just a kid. A kid should never have to make that kind of decision."

"You were just a kid. Why is your bad decision worse than hers?"

"Because I'm alive!" She shouted as the tears rolled down her face.

After a few moments House broke the silence. "Do you want Chinese?"

"What?" She hissed.

"Do You Want Chinese Food?" House over-annunciated each word. "I'm going to call in an order and pick it up on the way home."

"Sure, I…" She groped for words and finally just sighed. "You're such an ass."

House handed her his phone. "Basil chicken extra spicy, two egg rolls and whatever you want. It's under Mr. Chopsticks. I've got cash."

Chris just looked at him with a blank face.

"What? I'm driving."

After picking up dinner they went back to his place. House spread the food across the coffee table and turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels a while before stopping on Mythbusters rerun. Chris focused all of her brain on the show and her sesame chicken. She didn't have enough energy left to be angry. When her carton was empty she set it on the table and lit a cigarette.

"Are you staying?" House asked.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"If I didn't want you here I would already know that you weren't staying."

"I'd hate to seem sad and desperate." She pursed her lips.

"I never said I wouldn't sleep with you. I just wasn't willing to get arrested for it."

Chris's chest was tight with frustration. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of staying, but she wanted to leave even less. She waited until her cigarette was gone and then kicked of her shoes. House smiled to himself.

After a few minutes she stretched her legs out across the couch and tapped his leg with her toe. House looked down at her socked foot and then up at her. She kept her eyes on the screen. At the next commercial she tapped him again.

"Yes?"

"Come here." She beckoned with her finger.

One of her legs hung off of the couch and the other was against the back cushion, leaving ample room between her thighs. House smiled and scooted towards her. He lay back with his head against her chest. One of his hands rested on her knee and the other held the remote. She ran her fingers through his hair and rubbed lazy circles into his neck and shoulders.

"So…" Chris knew there was no right way to say this. "How sexually active have you been since um… Leg Girl."

"Leg Girl?" House repeated.

"You never told me her name."

"Stacy." House told her.

"Leg girl is less threatening."

"She's not a threat." He said.

"Ok." She didn't believe him even a little. "Anyways, I know of a couple since her, but I assume there must be others. You're _wife_ for instance, but were there a lot? Were they one night stands? Where you safe? I know you're a doctor and all, but still."

"Mostly hookers."

Chris laughed but House didn't. "Wait, you're serious, hookers? Why would you? You can go to any bar and find ten women who would do you, just because you're a straight, single doctor."

"I'd have to talk to them."

"You talk to me… sort of."

House laughed.

"Do you test monthly? I mean hookers are… hookers."

"I get tested often. I always use a condom."

"Condoms break."

"It's the same risk as meeting someone in a bar."

"I highly doubt that it's statistically an equal risk."

"What about you? Were you safe two years ago? Have you been tested?"

"Every six months, when I re-up the birth control, and yeah mostly. We were both clean. We didn't see the point of condoms for oral and anal, but.."

House's face lit up like a child seeing snow for the first time. He twisted his neck to look her in the eye. "Anal?"

"Yeah," she laughed at him. "It was a suitable alternative."

"You were that worried about getting pregnant?" That wouldn't surprise him, she still insisted on at least two forms of birth control and often added a diaphragm and spermicidal jelly if she could wait that long.

"Well yes, but it was really just more… satisfying." She laughed when House groaned. "We had some trouble initially. I thought I'd lost some sensation after… what happened. So we tried other things."

"You haven't lost any sensation." House said with a grin.

"I know that now."

"So he couldn't get you off, and that made you want to try anal sex?"

"I guess."

"I've been going about things all wrong." He was having far too much fun with this. "So did he ring your bell at the back door?"

"Yes, usually, I had to help… a lot, but yes."

"So am I the first person to get you off?" His smile lit up his whole face.

"I'm a person. I can even vote and own property."

"That's a yes. That poor kid's probably still using the same moves. His poor dates are still faking it just to get him out of their room before their parent's get home."

"Hey, he did me a lot more good than a few orgasms."

"Then why'd you leave him?"

"He moved… to Arizona for a cancer drug trial." She explained.

"Your first love had cancer?" House sat up and turned to face her. "Do you feel guilty about that too?"

"I'm not radioactive." She shook her head.

"I don't how to tell you this. It's a very _tightly_ kept secret among the medical community, _but _there is a direct link between anal sex and cancer."

She laughed out loud. "It's a good thing you _filled_ me in. I'd feel like such an _ass_ if I gave you… cancer."

"Once I get _behind_ an idea I just won't stop." He leaned over her and ran his hand up the inside of her thigh.

"Are you that _hard headed_?"

Sometimes they'd exhaust themselves, to the point that they fell asleep intertwined. House had been startled, almost worried that he had passed out, the first time he woke on top of her. The only times he could remember being comfortable enough to sleep that way, he'd been on a lot more drugs than he was these days. Chris loved falling asleep with him: beside him, beneath him, or above him. She couldn't remember ever sleeping so peacefully.

Along with not complaining and not expecting much, there was one thing that Chris didn't do that kept House's rapt attention. She never said no. She never claimed to have a headache or simply not be in the mood. She was game for anything he suggested. She never said "That's disgusting." or "That's not physically possible." or "Why do you even own a cattle prod." She just laughed, nodded, and sometimes reminded him where the ceiling fan was. If their exploits failed, and they often did, they simultaneously checked for injuries and found a more traditional position

While House studied her every gesture during sex, Chris examined him after they finished. She knew that even the muscles spasms of an orgasm must be enough to cause some pain in his leg. So, while she was adoring him and feeding his ego, she was also making certain he wasn't in too much pain. She was a quick study.

Two Vicodin always meant excessive pain, while one was harder to determine. It could mean more pain than expected or that it was just time for another dose. If he was really hurting his fingers would give him away. Whether on his thigh, wrapped in the sheets, or cupping her ass, his clenched fingers were a tell tale sign that he was done for the night. If he draped his arm over her, he was ready to sleep. If he held her tight there was more to come. When he absent mindedly stroked her skin, he could go either way.

They were always watching, learning, studying each other. They were both waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the big nasty fight that didn't turn into kinky sex, or the slow lazy boredom as they ran out of new things to say and do. They were both amazed by how easy the whole thing was.

Chris screamed. Her eyes flew open and she covered her mouth with her hand. She was gasping for breath, and wondering if she had really been as loud as she thought. The proud smile on House's face seemed to indicate that she had.

He sat up again and rubbed his thigh. Chris sat up too and stretched her neck and back. She stood carefully peeling herself off the leather and winced. "Oh hell, I feel like I just ran a marathon."

"Me too." Houses eyes were closed and his face was twisted.

"Shit." She forgot to conceal her concern. She went to retrieve the bottle of Vicodin she knew was in the medicine cabinet and brought it back to him. He took two and patted the cushion beside him.

"I should clean up first." She told him and a faint smile returned to his face again.


	15. The Dress

I'm sorry about the major delay in updating. My editor has had some personal struggles lately,and is no longer able to help me with this project. Then I found I'm pregant, and all things fandom got pushed to the back burner for a while. That said, I know I'm not going to get around to editing the rest of the story so I decided to post the rest of it as is. Please excuse any errors you find. As always I love feedback, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There are about 10 more chapters, and I'll make sure to note the last one as final.

Thanks for reading,

Raven

TITLE: Chapter 14 The Dress

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R

WARNINGS: Dirty

SUMMARY: Stacy's in town.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

Chris stopped by House's office, after her interview at the diner around the corner from the hospital. She had a feeling she might be seeing even more of this office. She'd be working early mornings and overnights at Mickey's, and there was bound to be a decent gap between work and her two afternoon classes. She'd had to register before she'd won the scholarship and only taken what she knew she could pay for.

"I got a job."

"Let me guess. It's got to be clerical or housekeeping, maybe the cafeteria. There are too many med students around for you to get one of their entry level jobs."

"It's not here. I can't volunteer if I work here." She sat in the chair in the corner and propped her feet up testing it out.

"You would get paid though."

"I can make minimum wage anywhere. Scholarships are harder to come by." She put her hands behind her head. She had decided long ago, that she loved the chair. Now she wondered if he'd let her nap there.

"So where's this job?" House said absently, he was watching something in the hallway.

"Mickey's." Chris was too comfortable too turn and see what he was looking at.

He looked back at her with a smirk. "We're getting horizontal on a regular basis. You can stop stalking me."

"It's on the bus route. I applied everywhere…"

She stopped when she saw that he wasn't listening to her. He was looking across the patio towards Wilson's office. Then, he got up and went outside. Chris watched as he waved his arms over his head, as if flagging a plane on the runway. She guessed he wasn't getting the response he wanted when he began to climb over the short wall that separated the spaces. Finally Wilson came out. He looked annoyed but not surprised.

"Nice tie."House said.

"I'm with a patient."

"Are you sleeping with..." House squinted to make out the figure on Wilson's couch, through the glare in the window, "him?"

"He's married; otherwise I'd be all over that." Wilson nodded back towards the elderly man that was now watching them.

"So who's the tie for?"

Wilson sighed. "She's a temp I hired to retire some old patient files."

"You never mentioned her."

"If this is how you act when I wear a new tie, why would I tell you about a new girlfriend?"

"Are you sleeping with her?" House cocked his head to the side.

"I'm going back to my patient."

"Wait." House looked into his office and motioned for Chris to join them.

She considered pretending she hadn't been watching them, but her curiosity was stronger than her pride at the moment. "Yes?" She asked as she opened the door.

"How do I compare to Wilson in bed."

She looked from him to Wilson and back again. "Uh, I imagine he cuddles more?"

House turned to Wilson with a smug grin.

"You told him I hired you?" Wilson asked Chris.

"Was it a secret? I read the HIPPA forms I signed; they didn't say anything about talking to House."

"I assumed if you'd known, you would have grilled me about it by now." Wilson told House.

"She didn't want you to find out we made love for the first time on your couch."

"No we didn't!" Chris shook her head

"How can you say that?" House looked wounded. "It was beautiful."

"Nothing happened in your office." Chris assured Wilson.

"I'm going _back_ to my office now." Wilson shook his head and walked away.

"What was that about?" Chris asked House.

"Wilson doesn't want me to know who he's sleeping with."

"Oh." She twisted her mouth. "Do you have a sister, a brother? Maybe he's gay?"

"He'd tell me if he was gay."

"I bet he would." Chris gave him a little nod and a wink. "An ex?"

House scowled, hopped over the wall again, and burst into Wilson's office. "Are you screwing Cuddy?"

"Have a nice day Walter." Wilson was showing his patient out. He shut the door and turned to House.

"I'm not screwing anyone."

"Then why are you hiding it?"

Wilson sighed. He knew House wouldn't stop until he had an answer. "It's Stacy. We're having dinner. She asked me not to mention it. Which is understandable, since the last time she was in town, you almost ended her marriage."

House just grinned to himself as he went back out the patio door. "What are you doing for dinner?" He asked Chris when he got back to his office.

"What did Wilson say?"

"You were right. He's sleeping with my brother. Do you still have that black nightgown?"

"Does your brother want to borrow it?"

"Wear it tonight. I'll pick you up."

"I'm not wearing that to dinner."

"Just wear a dress. If I have to put on a tie I want to see some leg."

She called Rachel on her way to school.

"Can I borrow a dress?"

There was a high pitched squeal at the end of the line. "Where is he taking you?"

"I don't know. It's nice though. He says he's wearing a tie."

"Is this your third date?"

"We've never really been on an official date."

"It doesn't really matter, you already gave it up."

"So about that dress?"

"Of course, when do you get out of class? I'll pick you up."

Rachel explained that every woman had a little black dress. Therefore, one should never ever wear a little black dress, unless they are in mourning. A little red dress could be worn just as easily and never faded into the background. She pulled out two options. They were definitely little and red.

"Not that one. I can't do strapless." Chris pointed to the shorter of the dresses.

"This is a band aid dress." The dress looked like it was made of red ace bandages. "Because it looks like you're wrapped in strips of fabric." Rachel explained.

"I thought it was because I'll have to put band aids over my nipples to keep from being arrested." She took the dress, and walked into the bathroom to try it on, leaving the door open enough for conversation.

"The fabric is super stretchy. That's what makes it fit right. This will work on anyone, whether you're built like Cameron Diaz of have an ass like Eva Mendez."

"Eva Mendez doesn't have a big ass." Chris didn't point out that almost no one was actually built like either of those women.

"Of course you wouldn't think so." Rachel said.

"Are you saying I have a fat ass? Am I the Eva to your Cameron?"

"It's not fat, just big." Rachel explained.

"Gee thanks." Chris came to the door way tugging the hem of the dress as far down her thigh as it would go.

"It's not a bad thing. If you've got to have something oversized tits and ass are the way to go."

Chris looked in the mirror. Somehow the dress looked even dirtier than if she had been standing there naked. "No way, this is too much, or not enough depending on how you look at it."

"It looks great. You need shoes."

"What about leaving something to the imagination? This dress is like an HBO miniseries."

"It's just House. He's seen you naked. He knows how the story ends."

"The waiter doesn't."

"Screw the waiter. House will love this dress."

"I do look like a hooker." Chris agreed.

"Hey! I wore that to homecoming last year."

"Was your bra sticking out?" Chris looked at her chest. The strips of fabric made an X from her shoulders to her hips and her black bra overflowed out of the top of the X.

"Take the bra off."

Chris laughed. "I have to wear a bra, trust me."

"That dress would hold Dolly Parton in place. Just try it."

It took both of them to get her bra off and out of the dress without tearing either. "I can just take it off." Chris offered.

"No." Rachel knew she'd never get her back in it. She pulled at the dress, so that Chris could stretch the bra strap down her arm and free herself. "There, now aim for the sky." Rachel grabbed her own chest and shoved it up towards her neck.

Chris imitated her movement. "This is not going to work."

"Here, lean over. Get gravity on your side."

Chris leaned.

Rachel pulled open the neck of the dress. "Hold em where you want em."

Chris positioned her breasts and Rachel let the dress snap back over her hands. "Ouch." Chris carefully removed her fingers. They both looked at their results in the mirror. Chris wriggled and shook trying to prove that it wouldn't hold, but only managed to make her ample cleavage ripple.

"See," Rachel's face was triumphant, "just don't do any jumping jacks."

The thought was a little painful. "That's amazing. Does NASA know about this stuff?" Chris pulled at one shoulder strap and watched it conform to her fingers.

"I think they invented it."

House showed up about half an hour later. Some of that time went to finding the shade of lipstick that matched the dress perfectly, but most of it was spent on stiletto training. Rachel led Chris through the house letting her practice walking and turning on different surfaces, wearing the red, pin-up girl pumps. They were about to make another practice run on the stairs when they heard the car horn.

Chris grabbed her bag and promised to call with details the next day. She took a deep breath as she opened the front door and strutted down the sidewalk towards the car. She could see House's smile and it seemed to get bigger with every step she took. By the time she got into the car Chris was smiling too.

"Wow." House reached over to grab her thigh.

"People can see us." She stretched the seatbelt under his hand.

"Is that spandex?" He slid his hand under the skirt and tested the fabric.

"Spandex's scary big brother." She felt herself blushing. His hand under her skirt was more discreet than the way his eyes were roaming her body. "Don't tell Rachel, but I'm not wearing the shoes. I've got boots in my bag."

"You can wear snow skis for all I care." He hand brushed her breast. "Are you wearing a bra?"

"Why aren't you wearing a tie?" She had just noticed he was wearing the same jeans and wrinkled button down shirt, he'd worn to work.

House turned the car on. "Slight change in plans, I couldn't get a reservation at the place I'd been thinking of."

"Let me go change."

The car was already moving. "Not a chance." He grinned over at her and looked at her legs long enough that she was afraid he'd hit something.

When they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, House was feeling a little bad, not guilty for lying or anything, but disappointed that she was going to mad at him later and he wouldn't get to take full advantage of that dress. The lot was already packed. He got out and went around to her side while she pulled on her tall black boots. They did not take away from the hooker effect, but at least she'd be able to walk.

A couple, in shorts and t-shirts, walked by as she was getting out of the car. She reached back for her bag. "I'm changing."

"Don't change, you look incredible." House took her bag and dropped it back in the floorboard.

She smiled in spite of herself and let him lead the way. A man in a sombrero held the door for them, and they stood in line in front of the hostess counter.

"People are staring." She told House through gritted teeth.

"They are hoping I'm your dad and they still have a shot with you." House winked down at her and let his arm rest around her hips possessively.

"Why don't you just piss on me?" She rolled her eyes, but didn't pull out of his grasp.

"I didn't think you were into that."

She shook her head and folded her arms around her chest. When she saw the effect that had on her cleavage she immediately put them back down at her sides.

"Wilson party of four." House told the hostess.

Chris stared at him.

"Mr. Wilson, the reservation is for two." The hostess told him looking through her stack of papers.

"It's Dr. Wilson and I am sure I made the reservation for four, because I tried three other restaurants that couldn't guarantee seating for four at this hour."

"Just a second," The hostess looked at her seating chart, and then said something in hurried Spanish to one of the waiters. After a moment the waiter nodded back. "Right this way Dr. Wilson."

They followed the hostess to the table. Chris didn't even look at House until the she was gone. "Give me your keys."

"Why?" House opened the menu.

"Because I didn't get dressed up to screw with Wilson."

"You got dressed up to screw with me." House smirked.

"Why are you doing this? Why tell me to wear…"

"I really thought we were going to a nicer place. This is his favorite place. Hers no longer exists."

"Hers?" Chris stopped when she saw Wilson and a stunning brunette following the hostess towards them. House stood to greet them. Chris didn't move. She was glaring at House. The brunette was glaring at House. Wilson was trying not to stare at Chris, and eventually ended up glaring at House too.

"Chris this is Stacy." House motioned between them. "Stacy this is Chris. You both know Wilson."

The women exchanged a glance that seemed to say "My beef's with him. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." And then both looked back at House with sour faces.

"House, can I talk to you?" Wilson asked.

"Sure, sure. Let's give these two a chance to chat." House followed Wilson away from the table.

Stacy sat down and they regarded each other again.

"So you're Leg Girl?" Chris asked, sizing up her opponent. Her features were sharp but not harsh. She wore a gray v-neck and black slacks. She was confident and professional. She didn't need to wear a mini dress to keep a man's attention.

"You must be Midlife Crisis Girl." Stacy smiled.

The jab made Chris feel more at ease. "I doubt he'll make it to a hundred."

Stacy nodded. "That's true."

"You're not in town to sleep with Wilson." Chris cut to the chase.

"What makes you so sure?" Stacy leaned back in her chair.

"He's House's best friend. I don't know anything about you, other than not to list you as my medical proxy, but Wilson wouldn't do that to House."

"He's been divorced three times and he cheated on all of them. You think he won't cheat on Greg?"

Chris hadn't ever heard anyone call him Greg before. She'd seen the door to his office and his letterhead, but she hadn't heard it. It sounded casual and intimate. Why didn't she call him Greg?

"You're going to ruin his only friendship? What the leg wasn't enough?" Stacy just looked at her.

"Sorry. That's all I've got on you and I feel threatened. I'm already dressed like a cocktail waitress and you have perfect eyebrows."

"It's a good dress." Stacy smiled.

"It's not mine." Chris gritted her teeth.

"I saved his life." Stacy said.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Chris nodded and stared at the salsa.

"Ten years and you're the first one to say that." Stacy let out a short bitter laugh.

The waiter set a pitcher of margaritas and glasses on the table and they helped themselves. "Are you even old enough for that?" Stacy asked.

"Barely," Chris smirked. "Are you really doing Wilson?"

Stacey shook her head. "I'm getting divorced. Wilson is an expert on the subject."

Chris's stomach churned, and not from the tequila. "So you'll be single."

"I'm not a threat."

"He paraded me in here like a pageant contestant to make you jealous. You'll always be a threat." Chris took a long drink.

"Don't read too much into it. He likes messing with people. This was three birds with one reservation. He couldn't pass it up. I'm not a threat, because I'm not interested."

"You still love him. You'd still want him if... things were different."

"I still hate him too. I want him like a diabetic wants pixie sticks. My blood sugar will be high for a week just from this conversation. Being with him again would put me in a coma."

Chris believed her.

"What about you?" Stacy refilled her glass. "If you're after money, you picked the wrong mark. How did you even meet?"

"I was a patient. He noticed me." She shrugged only a little offended by the money comment. "He makes me laugh and the sex is, well you know."

Stacy let herself remember for just a moment, and took another drink. "Does he still hum?"

"Hum?"

"Not all the time, but when he's very _very_ focused."

Chris's face lit up with recognition and she nodded. "'God Save The Queen'! I thought I was imagining it at first."

Stacy considered this. "With me it was 'Oh Canada'. I think it's like baseball."

They both looked across the room at House and Wilson, who were still talking animatedly and then back to one another. They laughed so loud that it drew both men's attention, and they came back the table. House sat next Chris and across from Stacey. Wilson stood behind the only remaining chair, as if he meant to protest, until Stacy handed him a margarita glass.

"What's so funny?" House tried to study both of their faces at once.

Stacy just shook her head, and raised her perfect eyebrows, as if she had no idea what he was referring to.

"Ooohhhh nothing." Chris stretched out the 'O' like the opening to the song and tried to match Stacy's expression. Stacy snickered.

"How much have you had to drink?" House asked both or either of them.

"How long did it take you to learn the 'Star Spangled Banner'?" Chris asked

He looked at her with a confused expression, but she could tell he knew exactly what she was talking about. She and Stacy laughed. Wilson was just confused.

"'Oh Canada' took at least five years," said Stacy.

"I don't know what you're talking about." House took a drink.

"Maybe he doesn't realize he does it out loud."

"What?" Wilson asked.

"Hums during sex," Chris explained.

"To delay things," Stacy added.

"I do not hum."

"You hum." Both women said in unison.

House closed his eyes, tossed his head back, and sighed. "I tried 'Amazing Grace' in college, but national anthems just work better." He admitted. They all laughed.

"Ugh," Wilson's face twisted and everyone turned to him. "Mindy Starnes? The walls in that apartment were very thin." Everyone laughed again.

"What's good here?" Stacy finally asked Wilson.

Chris was watching House and trying to think of other ways to use this embarrassing information. She wondered if he knew about Stacy's divorce. Wondered what he'd do about it. He broke her train of thought by putting his hand on her knee.

She scowled over at him. "Give me your shirt."

"I'll trade you," he offered.

"I'm cold. You have two shirts. Give me the top one."

He grinned. "We'd all know if you were cold."

She leaned towards him. "Give me the shirt, or this relationship…" she pointed between them "is going to end with even more muscle loss, and I won't start with your leg."

Wilson sucked in a breath, and Stacy smirked into her menu. House's face was a perfect balance of annoyed and amused. He finally rolled his eyes and gave her the shirt. She felt instantly more relaxed with it on.

"Have you tried the ceviche?" Chris asked Wilson, leaning back in her chair and taking another sip of her margarita.

It wasn't as awkward as you might expect. In fact, when House's mouth was full of chile rellano the rest of them had a pretty good time. Chris only felt like a kid, sitting at the grown up table a few times, particularly when the topic of her career came up and they were all encouraging her to go through another eight years of school. House was still pushing med school. Wilson went so far as to mention an oncology fellowship in Boston, and Stacy suggested law school citing that Chris "obviously likes to argue".

When they were done eating, Chris excused herself to smoke a cigarette. She stood, leaning against the hood of the car on the passenger side, when the others came out. House stood beside Chris leaning on her door. The other two stood at the back of the car. Stacy watched Chris's cigarette wistfully, until House took the pack and offered it to her.

Stacy looked to Chris, who nodded. Stacy lit one and handed the pack back to House, but kept the car between them. Chris watched the two of them trying not to react to each other's body language and she was flooded with anger again. He was standing closer to her, but facing Stacy. When he shifted Stacy touched her hair. When Stacey tilted her head, House crossed his arms. It was like watching magnets make each other spin.

They were chatting about the weather. Wilson was attempting to extract Stacy and himself, without rousing House's Spidey-senses. Chris wished the guys would leave, so she could talk to Stacy. She wanted a chance to ask how to avoid her mistakes, how to make this work, how to breathe again if it didn't. How could she be the kind of woman House needs instead of the kind of woman that needs him?

She wanted to ask her things that had nothing to do with him: How to grow up, How to be a woman, a friend, alone? Was she terrified of being alone? Did the cross around her neck help? How did she pay for law school? Where did she get her eyebrows done?

Instead, she said "It was nice to meet you" and watched as the other woman got into the car with Wilson. As they drove away Stacy told Wilson, "I like her, she's going to swallow him alive." But neither House nor Chris ever heard that prediction, and now they were alone. She sat on the hood of the car, and he stood between her and the passenger door.

"What the hell was that?" She snarled at him.

"Dinner."

"I'm not a tennis trophy."

"Tennis would be much more popular." House teased.

She swatted him with the back of her hand. "It's not funny House. Tomorrow, I get to tell Rachel that we didn't have some great, romantic night. That you just wanted me here to make your ex jealous. It didn't even work. She didn't seem jealous to me."

"She was a little jealous." House grinned, because he knew it was true.

Chris huffed at him. "Take me to the house."

"I'm kidding." He stepped in front of her and put one hand on her knee. She batted it away.

"I get that this is just sex. I know I don't matter to you, but you don't get to be mean to me. This was mean. I felt stupid. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not stupid. You made me feel like a complete fool."

"You're not stupid." He moved closer and took her hands in his. "I wouldn't have brought you, if I didn't know you could hold your own, and you did."

"But why did you bring me?"

"I knew I'd have more fun with you here, and you're nice to look at." He watched her shaking her head at him. "I just wanted to know why they were having dinner."

"Did Wilson tell you?" She asked.

"No, I don't think he knew."

"She's getting a divorce." Chris ripped the band aide off, and waited for the sting. She didn't know what sort of sign she was looking for on his face, but it didn't come. He only seemed surprised.

"She told you that?" House asked.

Chris shrugged. "You would have found out eventually. She says she's not interested in you, but …"

"She's not. If she was it wouldn't matter." He looked over her shoulder, taking some of the weight off of his words. "You matter."

Chris frowned at him and watched his face, eventually forcing him to meet her gaze. She didn't want to believe him, but she did. "You're just saying that because you want under this dress."

"That doesn't mean it's not true." He grinned at her.

She resisted as long as she could manage. She might have made it a full thirty seconds, if he hadn't been so damned cute, but a smile snuck across her face despite her best efforts and as soon as he saw it, his lips were on hers.

They shared a sweet hard kiss and he found himself pressed between her legs.

"Take this off." He tugged his shirt down her shoulders.

She laughed and took the shirt off. He ran his hands over her freshly exposed arms and back and dropped his head lower and lower down the neckline of her dress. His hips pushed her legs open even wider and the skirt inched up her thighs.

"We can't do it here." She laughed.

"Why not?" House looked around. They were alone in restaurants side lot. The street lamp nearest to them hadn't come on with the others.

"We're outside in public." She stated the very obvious.

"There is plenty of parking in front now. Even if someone pulled back here, they couldn't see what we're doing." He slipped a cautious hand up her thigh giving her ample time to protest.

She was looking around the lot and at the windowless walls on either side of them. When his fingers reached their target he groaned, and she turned back to him with wide eyes and an even wider grin. She imagined 'God Save the Queen' running through his mind.

"Even a thong would have shown up under this." She explained.

He used his free hand to unzip his pants and then pulled out a condom.

"House?" She looked over her shoulder again.

"No one can tell. It will just look like we're making out." He pressed against her thighs.

"Can you... standing up?" She bit her lip. Mentioning his leg never helped his mood.

"We'll find out."

He grinned and pressed closer, but waited until she inched forward and nodded before sliding into her. Their eyes locked as they found a discreet rhythm. She couldn't believe they were doing this, or that she was so turned on by it. A car started somewhere and she broke the kiss to look behind her.

"They can't see us." He assured her.

She kissed him again.

"They couldn't tell what we're doing… unless you laid down."

She furrowed her brows.

"They still couldn't see, but it would be much more obvious…. if someone happened to look around the corner." He was leaning her back on the hood, as he spoke, and she let him until her back was flat against the cool metal and they were at a ninety degree angle.

She looked up towards the front of the lot and then back at him as he pumped into her a little harder. She shut her eyes, bit her lip, and rand her hands over her breasts until her nipples stood out under the tight fabric. House watched her writhing under him. He moaned, clenched his eyes shut, and came harder than he could ever remember.

She lay panting as he zipped himself up. When he slipped his fingers into her she shot up. "House we can finish at your place" She looked around again.

"That just wouldn't be fair." He let his thumb rest on her clit and she whimpered. "Even if someone pulled back here they couldn't see where my hand is. Just don't scream."

She laughed but it turned into a gasp. "Oh."

"Now if Pedro takes the trash out we're busted."

He grinned as her eyes fluttered open. "Oh House."

"Even if he couldn't see my hand under your skirt, and he could." She moaned and bucked against him. "He'd take one look at your face and know exactly what…"

He didn't have to finish because she was coming. "Oo.." The sound was broken by gasps. She put both hands on the side of the car to support herself. Her head was spinning and her ears were ringing. She just didn't want to fall off the car or on him, while she caught her breath.

When she looked up House was wincing. He popped a couple of Vicodin and opened the passenger side door. "You're driving."

She nodded, feeling more than a little guilty and took the keys. They didn't talk much as she drove, but by the time they got to the apartment he seemed to be fine. He wouldn't let her take of the dress until he'd watched her come a few more times.


	16. Dibs

I'm sorry about the major delay in updating. My editor has had some personal struggles lately,and is no longer able to help me with this project. Then I found I'm pregant, and all things fandom got pushed to the back burner for a while. That said, I know I'm not going to get around to editing the rest of the story so I decided to post the rest of it as is. Please excuse any errors you find. As always I love feedback, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There are about 10 more chapters, and I'll make sure to note the last one as final.

Thanks for reading,

Raven

TITLE: Chapter 15 Dibs

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: Hous/Chris

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Establishing a new routine.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

She stopped by House's office when she had time to kill. At least once a week she brought a bag of fries, part of a pie, or some other pastry. This was enough to gain the teams tolerance, if not approval. Most days she came in, poured herself a cup of coffee, and joined House in whatever entertainment pursuit he had chosen for the day. On the rare occasion that none of his staff was in the office they would go out on the balcony, and make out until Wilson closed his blinds.

The first time that she approached the room and saw House in front of his whiteboard she just kept walking. He later informed her that she could still hang out in his office, as long as she wasn't annoying. So the next time she caught them in the middle of a differential she just curled up in his comfy chair and read a book.

When they came to some decision and the team dispersed she would slip in and get her coffee. She'd linger near House long enough for him to acknowledge her if he wanted. If he didn't, she went back to her book. If he did, it was generally just a pat on the butt or a quick kiss, but sometimes he'd spew some medical jargon at her, until he noticed her eyes glazing over.

One day she came in and found them all sitting at the table bouncing ideas around. She moved quietly past them, barely noticed, and set a bag of bagels on the counter. She went ahead and got some coffee since she was already there.

"Lupus would explain the rash and the fever." Chase was saying.

"Wouldn't the steroids be helping if it was autoimmune?" Chris asked before she could stop herself.

They all looked up at her. The team looked confused. House looked entertained.

"You said that last week." She shrugged. "Sorry." She scurried out of the room.

"It's not lupus." She heard House tell them, as she sat down to check her e-mail, at his desk.

Later House had gone to roam and think and the team had gone to run tests and give experimental treatments. Chris was toasting a bagel when the team came back and sat down to do research and discuss their findings so far.

"Any luck?" She asked.

"Nothing yet." Foreman told her.

"What do you see in House?" Chase asked her. His colleges both gave him sideways glances, and the room got a little awkward.

"You don't want to know all the things I've seen _in_ House." Chris quipped.

"He doesn't care why you like House. He wants to know why you blew him off." Thirteen told her.

Chris sucked in a breath through her teeth. "You really want to go there?"

"I'd like to know." Chase told her.

"I'm curious." Foreman nodded.

"You're a slut." Chris said bluntly. "You're obviously just about the sex. That usually means the sex is all about you."

"House _isn't_ all about sex or himself?" Chase asked.

"If he just wanted sex he'd get a hooker."

"That's a good thing?" Chase asked.

"No, that's kind of pathetic, but nobody's perfect." She gestured to him. "This is part of the problem. You're arguing with me about my opinion. It makes me wonder if you can take direction. If I said 'go north, south, faster, slower' would you just stay the course and assume I was feeling it wrong?"

Thirteen and Foreman's eyes grew wide and they struggled visibly not to laugh.

Chase opened his mouth to defend himself, but then wondered if she was right, and finally asked. "House takes direction well then?"

Chris thought for a moment and smiled. "I honestly don't know. I've never had to give any."

Chase's face was turning red. The others laughed.

"You're my hero." Thirteen told her.

"Liar, we all know "don't stop" counts as direction?" House had been standing in the door way long enough to catch the general theme of the conversation. "You should tell him the truth though. That will really mess with his head."

"I can't believe you just blew my cover." Chris told House. All eyes were on her again, waiting for an explanation. She sighed. "Rachel called dibs."

"Rachel? She's got a boyfriend." Chase looked flummoxed.

"The correct response would have been 'she's underage'" House pointed out.

Chris shrugged. "Dibs are dibs. If not for that, and the fact I was already jonesing for your boss, you would be a reasonably acceptable one night stand."

"Thanks?" Chase said.

"Whenever this implodes" she motioned between herself and House. "You'll be the first one I call. No, she'll be the first one I call." She pointed to Thirteen. "You're on the list though."

"You could call her now." House said with enthusiasm.

The girls both rolled their eyes.

"No seriously. I'll give you both a hundred dollars right now, if you kiss for twenty seconds." He pulled out his wallet.

"What do you think?" Chris winked at Thirteen. "I could really use a hundred bucks."

"Sure." Thirteen stood and stepped over to her.

House, Foreman, and Chase watched in hopeful shock.

Chris bit her lip as Thirteen put one hand on her hip. They couldn't avoid their chests rubbing together. Every cock in the room stood a little taller when Chris reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Thirteen's ear. The girls looked into each other's eyes and burst into laughter.

"What do you know about cars?" Chris asked one night as they were watching nothing in particular on TV.

"I know enough. Why?"

"I need to buy a car."

"I thought you had to use that money for school."

"I have some saved, not much, but enough for a piece of crap that will get me around town."

"You could just use my car. I've got the bike." House suggested.

"Ok." She rolled her eyes. "I know we were talking about cash the last time this came up, but I don't take large gifts in exchange for sexual favors either."

"It would be a loan, not a gift."

She looked at him. "Are you serious? What if it rains?"

"Then you would have to give it back. We could carpool. We're usually going to the same place anyways."

She considered this. He was right. She could get to school and back to the hospital before he left for the day. "Yeah, but my neighborhood is shitty. If it got stolen or broken into, I couldn't replace it. I might not even be able to fix it."

"You could just park it here."

"That kind of defeats the purpose, especially after the buses stop running."

"I could get a house key made, when I get one for the car. You could just stay here."

"Are you asking me to move in…here…with you?"

"It sounds crazy when you say it." House laughed at her.

Utter panic flashed across her face and she reached for her cigarettes. "How did we go from maybe borrowing your car to living together…here, where you live?" She lit a cigarette.

"You're about to freak out aren't you."

"No." She exhaled a long string of smoke. "I'm just… it's, well… Sudden is what it is, and huge. Do you think that might be more weight than this…_relationship_ can bear?"

"It would just be temporary, until you can sell the house and get your own place."

"Just temporary?" She took a breath. That sounded a little less insane. "I would be here all the time though."

"Oh, well, I hadn't considered that." House's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're not even home half the time."

"Yeah, but I hate my place. I like it here. I wouldn't have to avoid being home all the time if I lived here."

House squinted and cocked his head to one side. "Which side are you on again?"

"I'm not saying it wouldn't have its perks." She smiled. "But what if your leg hurts and I'm PMSing at the same time? We could kill each other."

House laughed. "You would still have another house to go to."

"You would just kick me out, in the middle of the night?" She huffed at him.

House looked even more confused, and offered, "You could take the couch?"

"Why do I have to take the couch?"

"It's my apartment and my furniture."

"See that's just not cool. If I move my crap over here and forward my mail, I at least deserve some kind squatter's rights."

"True, you'd get the couch either way, because you're young and spry and my leg hurts."

"Ok," she agreed, "but I can't really pay you rent here, while I've still got the house payments."

"I can cut back on my Pay-Per-View if you're here. That should make up any extra utilities."

She laughed. "What if I want to watch Pay Per View with you?"

"Then it's coming out of your pocket."

"I'll have to get a new toothbrush."

"Is it pink with Hello Kitty on it?"

"No, it's the orange, like yours. I realize we've exchanged quite a few fluids, but I still don't want to accidentally use your toothbrush."

House sensed that he had convinced her. He reached into his pocket and threw a set of keys at her. Chris inspected them and smiled as she read the "Frankie Says Relax" key chain.

"You really like me." She grinned and put her cigarette out before sliding closer to him on the couch.

"Eh, you're alright." House shrugged.

"You like having me here."

"I like having you here." He grabbed his crotch.

"Here?" She put her hand over his and kissed him. He nodded under her lips.

"She's moving in?" Wilson repeated House's statement as a question.

"It's temporary, until she can get another place."

"You see her with her clothes on for half an hour every other day. What if she takes two hour showers and leaves nail polish soaked cotton balls on your coffee table? You could barely handle living with me."

"You never put out." House shrugged. "Besides, she couldn't possibly be as annoying as you."

She brought a couple of boxes over a few days later. She stuffed her clothes into the two drawers he had cleared out for her and lined her shoes up across from his array of sneakers in the closet. The bedroom looked exactly as it had before she came except for her chap stick and a few books on the right side night stand.

The bathroom was another story. The shower shelf held a collection of fruity scrubs and washes and the counter was littered with six different kinds of lotion. There was a plastic box full of hair accessories and makeup.

"SPF 100?" House asked her as he walked out of the restroom one day. "That's what that smell is."

"What smell? It's unscented." She was prepared to be offended.

"You smell like summer, all the time." He said.

She tried not to smile too big. "That's a great line. You could get all kinds of laid with that."

"Why do you use three kinds of sunscreen in winter?"

"My mom used to tell me that my real dad died of skin cancer." She shrugged.

"She used to?"

"I'm pretty sure it was just a story, so I wouldn't argue about wearing sunscreen. It worked a little too well."

"She lied to you about your father's death?"

"It's not like she had anything better to tell me. I think he just took off, when he found out she was pregnant. I wouldn't want to tell my kids that story either."

House just stood with his arms folded. He clearly wasn't buying any of this and she really couldn't imagine why.

"I had enough issues as a kid without throwing a deadbeat dad into the mix."

"Then clearly the cancer story didn't work that well."

"No, I was messed up before she ever told me that. I was just a mean pissy little kid. I didn't like people or trust anyone."

"Kids aren't naturally mean. They are naturally gullible. If you were a pissed off kid it means someone pissed you off."

"Thanks Dr. Phil. Are we going to have an Aha moment now, or are you going to buy me dinner?"

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" House asked as Chris was climbing into bed. He'd been watching from the bed, as she brushed her hair and took off her clothes.

"You're not so bad yourself." She took his question as a compliment and moved in close to him.

"No seriously, what do you see in the mirror?"

"I don't know. The same thing anyone else see's when they look at me." She was incredibly uncomfortable discussing her looks, and particularly taking his compliments. "I'm pretty enough. I mean I'm not deformed or anything."

House nodded. "That explains a lot."

"What?"

"You're not just pretty. You're hot, a perfect ten. You're the kind of ten that makes other tens look like eights. You could be a model or…"

"House, I am not tall or skinny enough to be a model." She turned off the lamp beside her and moved to kiss him, to stop the conversation, but her kept going.

"Maybe not on a runway, but there are other types of models. You could be a pin-up girl."

"Gee thanks. There are thousands of pin-up girls out there House."

"And even with silicone parts, makeup, and photo shop most of them aren't as hot as you. You could have any straight, single guy you wanted. You could have most the married gay ones too." House told her.

"Is that what this is about? Do you think I'm dating you because I have a negative body image?" Chris asked.

"You just don't think you can do better."

"You're right, because I've never known anyone I like better than you."

"So, you just have a thing for old crippled guys."

"I have a thing for smart, funny sexy guys. House, you don't give yourself enough credit. You're a doctor. That alone can get any proctologist laid, but you're not just some doctor. You're a big deal, a genius. You're funny, and you can be incredibly sweet, when you don't think anyone is watching. And besides all that, you're hot. You've got the salt n pepper hair, the stubble, the baby blue eyes, and you can really fill out a pair of jeans. Especially those grey one, with the little hole on the back pocket, when you lean over in those, it's all I can do not to take them off of you."

"That's why you're attracted to me?" House asked.

"I don't know. It's attraction. It's ten percent physical, ten percent mental, and the rest is just hormones and chemical responses. I was drawn to you the first time I saw you under the bleachers. Honestly if we'd met once on the street, I would have thought you were hot, and not even remembered you ten minutes later. But there was more to it than that, and when I was in the hospital and you figured out I was eighteen, when I told you about my past, you didn't look at me with pity. You saw more than a wounded girl, maybe because you're wounded too, but it's the first time anyone really saw me in a long time."

Chris stopped and looked away. She'd said much more than she'd intended to say. Her face was burning in the dark, and she was a little afraid of how he might respond. House was holding her, and slowly pulling her closer, afraid to spook her. As he pressed his lips to hers, she stopped him.

"Why are you attracted to me?" She asked, not sure she wanted an answer.

"Because you're naked." He told her sliding one hand down her body.

"And when I'm not naked?" She asked.

"Because I want you to get naked again.

She laughed a little. "Is that it? Is it just about sex?" Her whole body stiffened as she realized he might say "yes", that might be all she was to him, and she's just given a monologue to how great he was.

House realized she needed to hear something, that she'd out herself out there and a lack of response on his part would not serve him well. He calculated his words at first, not wanting to say the wrong thing as usual, but soon his thoughts were flowing out uncensored. "You're smart, sexy, funny, not boring. Actually you don't make any sense. You like _me_. You try to distance yourself from people, but then you do things like save Rachel's life or help that deaf girl in the clinic, that only endear you to people. You're strong, but you don't know it. You're like a lion that thinks it's a house-cat. You're so stunned every time you take down a wildebeest. It's fun watching you test your limits and realize what you are capable of."

"Oh." Chris said. She was even more uncomfortable, almost embarrassed to hear herself praised. She was also stunned, and flattered, and speechless.

"And you're incredibly beautiful. I would have been an idiot not to make love to you." House said softly and kissed her again.

This time when he kissed her it was different. They both felt it. Like that first kiss on Wilson's balcony, it felt reckless, like he was diving into her and he didn't know if he would sink or swim. She pulled him down deeper. When they made love it was different too. This was the typical race to an orgasm. It was two people needing to be as close as they possibly could and never wanting to let go.

When they finished she shuddered against him. As she caught her breath, he just held her. He knew what she was feeling, new that it was more than she'd ever felt before, and that he just needed to hold her. Chris had never felt anything like this before and hadn't known to expect it, but has wasn't surprised. He'd known it was inevitable from the first time they kissed. He'd always known they'd fall in love.


	17. You Make Me

TITLE: Chapter 14 You make me

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: Violence/Vomit

SUMMARY: House makes Chris throw a temper tantrum.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

A week later Chris was in House's office dropping off some day old muffins. The team sat at the table doing nothing in particular since they didn't have a case. House was in his desk chair bouncing a tennis ball off the wall. He was so deep in thought that Chris didn't speak as she walked into the room.

"What do you think the maximum fine for perjury is?" He said without looking at her.

"A lot. Why? Is this about my mom's hearing? Are you still going to testify?"

"I'll still testify if you want, but you're the one committing perjury." He tossed a file folder onto the desk in front of her.

"Is this her file?"

"No."

"Are these police reports?" Chris skimmed the pages.

"You said your mom didn't have a history of violent behavior."

"She doesn't. She hardly even spanked us."

"According to that she got in a few good blows before he put her in the hospital."

"That doesn't make any sense. This is Sarah's dad, my stepdad. They never fought. I would remember. He was perfect. He adopted me when mom got pregnant." She looked closer at the report. "I remember this. I was six. They slipped on the ice. She slipped and he fell trying to catch her."

"You saw them fall?"

"No, I was at school. We had to stay with the neighbor a few days. Oh my god." She flipped to the next page in the file.

"That's where it gets interesting."

"He got hit by a car. My mom was never the same. She never dated again."

"Strange, that says he

down the stairs during a heated argument. I guess there's no lesson to learn about looking both ways before you use the stairs."

"She didn't push him. She loved him. He was… he was perfect."

"He deserved it. Her medical records indicate he was beating the crap out her on a regular basis."

"House I was almost eight. I would have known. I would have heard or seen something. If she pushed him she'd be in jail."

"No witnesses and his blood alcohol level make a tough case to sell. It probably wasn't worth the DA's time."

Chris was shuffling through the other pages. "What is this? Daniel Allen? August 1990? I wasn't even born yet."

"Second page." House told her. "You probably saved her life. He's in prison for killing the last one."

Daniel Esposito had been arrested for beating his obviously pregnant girl friend Sherry Sanders. There were pages of domestic abuse complaints from other women. "This is my dad?" Chris whispered.

"Assuming she's a one abuser kind of gal."

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"You were about to perjure yourself."

"Was all my talk about my happy childhood too much for you? Did you need to take me down a notch? I've got plenty of great memories. Why not destroy a few?" She threw the file down.

"You needed to know the truth."

"Bullshit!" She yelled. "You needed to know the truth. I was perfectly happy being ignorant."

"No you weren't."

"You had to prove how fucking smart you are. You know my life better than I do. You can't go a day without making someone else feel like shit." She stood and snatched the file off of his desk again. "I'm taking your fucking car. If you don't see me for a few days report it stolen."

Later that night House was screening his calls. "Um Dr. House, this is Rachel." Came from his answereing machine.

"What?" House barked when he picked up the phone.

"You really need to come and pick up Chris. She won't leave and it's almost my curfew. I can't take her to my house like this anyways. My parents would…"

"Where are you?"

"The Benigan's by the college. I couldn't get into any of the real bars."

"Take her keys and go home. Where's my car?"

"We parked it in front of your place like three hours ago."

"I'm on my way."

House walked into the restaurant and straight to the bar, ignoring the hostess. Chris sat with her back to him. She was talking to the man beside her and gesturing wildly with a cigarette in one hand and bright green drink in the other. The man put his arm around her shoulder. She shrugged him off and continued her rant. "but it's my dad you know?" House caught a few broken sentences. "How can just…"

House pulled a waitress aside and pointed to Chris. "How much does she owe?"

"Get in line man. She closed out two hours ago. That guy's bought her at least six drinks since then."

House nodded. He looked up as the man put his hand on Chris's thigh and whispered in her ear. Chris tensed and then shoved him away with her elbow, while at the same time wrapping her leg around his barstool and pulling towards her. The man crashed to the ground cursing and flailing.

"You still wanna be my daddy, motherfucker?" Chris took his beer off the counter and poured it on him.

"Fucking bitch!" The man started to stand up.

"Don't" House pinned the man down with his cane.

"Go away. You obliterated my childhood!" Chris glared at him. She'd been planning on saying that for hours. She looked down at her drink and shook her head before reaching across the bar for the drink of a women sitting at the corner. She threw the contents at House and then finished her own drink.

House laughed and threw some cash on the bar in front of the woman who was yelling at both of them. He took the empty glasses away from Chris and set them on the counter. Then took her hand and pulled her towards the door.

"Don't touch me. I'm not going anywhere with you." She jerked her hand away.

"You don't want to go to jail this drunk." House told her. He put his arm around her waist and all but carried her out the door. A manager stopped them at the door. "She's nineteen. Do you really want the cops to pick her up here?"

The man let them pass as Chris yelled. "I will hit you in your fucking leg. Let me go!"

"Get in the car." House let her loose when they were standing next to it.

"NO!" She screamed.

"Fine. Go to jail. I guarantee the cops are on the way right now."

She thought for a minute and then climbed in the backseat. She lay across the seat, facing away from him. As he drove home, House could hear her crying.

"Well are you coming in or sleeping in the car?" House asked as he parked.

"Oh fuck. Pull over." She groaned.

"We're not moving." He told her.

She scrambled out of the car and House heard her retch as he got out. He came around to her side to survey the damage and was relieved to find she'd gotten it all in the gutter and not on his car. Chris leaned on the car and groaned. House unlocked the door and turned to see if she would follow.

She pushed past him and went straight for the toilet. House settled on the couch and turned up the TV so he didn't have to listen to her. After the bathroom had been quiet for about ten minutes he stuck his head in and threw a few towels at her.

"Are you done or do I have to stay up and make sure you don't drown in your own puke?"

"Fuck you." Her voice echoed in the toilet bowl.

"Alright, but I'm going to have to insist on doggy style until you stop puking."

Chris started to laugh and then stopped abruptly and gagged again. "Oh God, I hate you so much right now."

She spent the night on the tile floor. The next morning when House went to check on her she was curled beside the toilet with the towels around her. He tapped the sole of one of the shoes she had never taken off and she groaned.

"You're going to want to move before I finish my cereal."

"What time is it?"

"Almost eleven. Do you need to call work?"

"Stop yelling. I called in last night." She groaned as she sat up.

House left and returned with a glass of water and bottle of ibuprofen. "Here. Hydrate."

"I'm never drinking another melon ball. Nothing should ever be that shade of green." She drank half the glass at once.

"Take two of these." He handed her the bottle of pills.

She looked at the bottle and then at him. "Fuck Advil! Give me one of your Vicodin." She threw the bottle at the wall.

House pulled a bottle from his pocket and handed her one white pill. She took it and leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed.

"Go to bed." He held a hand out to help her up.

"I'll take the couch." She pulled herself up.

"It's Saturday. I'll be on the couch."

She pursed her lips and scowled, but after a moment standing was more that she could handle. She pushed past him to the bed and collapsed on it. Even her side of the bed smelled like him. She willed the Vicodin to let her sleep and tried not to cry anymore.

A few hours later House came in to check on her. She was wrapped in the sheet hugging his pillow against her chest. When he sat next to her she opened one eye and squinted at him. He sat on her side of the bed, so that his right leg was nearest to her. It made him seem vulnerable and she had to wonder if he knew this and was using it to his advantage.

"What now?" She grumbled half into the pillow.

"Drink this." He handed her a bottle of Gatorade.

"It's green." She looked suspiciously at the bottle.

"The irony is part of the treatment."

"If this tastes like melon I will literally kill you." She propped up on her elbow and took a sip of the lime flavored drink. She relaxed and decided to let him live a bit longer.

"There's take-out in the kitchen."

This brought to mind deep fried bits of meat in syrupy spicy sauce and she made a face. "Are you trying to make me puke again?"

"We could go get a Monte Cristo?" He grinned

"You're a terrible person."

"I got you soup."

She pressed her lips together as she looked at him. She didn't want to thank him, smile, or let him off the hook, but the harder she tried to summon up the anger, which se new was still there bubbling under the surface, the harder it was to find.

"Chicken noodle?"

"Wonton."

"My mom used to make chicken noodle whenever I was sick." She felt a touch of that anger tightening her chest. "Unless you have a folder somewhere that says she was actually feeding me the tears of orphans and bread made from their bones, and that some biology class dissected my favorite pet."

House rolled his eyes, but was actually pretty relieved that she was mocking him again. "Fluffy didn't feel a thing. The orphans on the other hand…"

She threw the pillow at him. He watched as she untangled herself. Her jeans and t-shirt gave the linen enough resistance that her efforts had a slapstick effect. Her matted hair made a wild mane around her face. If he could have been certain she'd brushed her teeth at some point he would have wrestled her back down onto the bed as soon as she managed to get out of it.

She went to the restroom to wash her face and rake her hair into submission. When she went to change clothes she found her hopelessly crushed pack of cigarettes. She pulled each one out of the box and inspected it. Most were broken in several places. A few didn't even resemble cigarettes anymore and came out in a rain of tobacco and bits of paper.

She threw them in the wastebasket and her clothes into the hamper. She selected a clean tank top with polka dotted boys shirts. She considered the implications of running around in her underwear, but didn't put on pants. She didn't have the energy to pretend she wasn't interested in sex, not convincingly at least.

"Oh fuck." She groaned.

"Gimme a minute. I'm eating." House called from the other room.

"I forgot my birth control." She shouted back and pulled her frumpiest sweatpants out of her drawer.

She read the insert that came with her packet pills every month, and new that taking one pill late wasn't likely to have any effect on their effectiveness, but just having to think about it was enough to cool her jets.

After taking the little white pill she got her soup and joined House on the couch. He was squeezing a line of spicy mustard down the length of an egg roll when Chris noticed the fresh pack of Camels next to her ashtray. She abandoned her soup momentarily and smoked one immediately.

When she finished the cigarette she ate the soup. When she finished the soup she eyed the square carton in Houses lap. It was still half full and he seemed to be more focused on Iron Chef than the basil chicken. She reached in with her spoon and stole a bite.

"That's really good." She stretched her spoon towards him again.

"That's why

ordered it." He pulled the carton away from her and took another bite. "Get your own."

She frowned and lit another cigarette and watched as he took a few more bites. When she put out the butt he held the carton out to her with his eyes still on the TV. She took it and finished it as the chef's presented their dishes to the judges.

"Twenty bucks on Morimoto." House said.

"No way, Morimoto always wins."

After a while she showered and went to walk the dog she cared for on weekends. While she was out she called Rachel to tell her she had survived and bitch about House. Something got mixed up though and House came across as the good guy for buying her Gatorade and soup. She left the cigarettes out, to avoid any more of Rachel's anti-smoking campaign.

When she got back to the apartment House was at the piano playing a song she thought she recognized, but didn't know. She tried to ignore him, but she was just a sucker for that damn piano. She resisted sitting next to him on the bench or climbing into his lap, but lay on the couch watching him and listening. She didn't even realize she was dozing off until she woke alone in the dark living room.

She thought about staying on the couch all night, just to drive home her point, whatever her point was, but decided that making herself uncomfortable was not the proper approach. Waking him as she got into bed would be much more annoying. She was disappointed to see the light under the bedroom door as she approached.

When she opened it her eyes took a moment to adjust. House lay with the cream colored sheet up to his waist reading a medical journal. He was definitely naked. She stood in the doorway wanting to leap upon him and go back to the couch at the same time. After a while House looked over the pages at her with his brows raised in questioned.

"Take your pants off and stay a while." House suggested.

Chris narrowed her eyes at him but took his suggestion. She left her jeans and bra in a neat pile, but kept her shirt and underpants. "How much longer will you be up?" She asked as she lay down and pulled her pillow between them. This meant she was forced to face him if she wanted to put her head on the pillow.

"Well if I think about baseball…"

"How long will you be reading?"

He dog-eared the article and set it aside. Instead of turning off the lamp he turned to her. "Are you withholding sex because I didn't lie to you or because you missed a pill?"

"Doesn't really matter does it?"

"They're both stupid reasons, but the pill doesn't rule out blow jobs."

"Then it must be more than that."

House just nodded and rolled away. He pulled the string and the room was dark except for a few beams of moonlight that snuck in through the cracks in the blinds. They lay in silence. Her heart and mind raced. She wanted to reach for him. She thought that maybe, if she could keep his mouth busy and didn't have to listen to his smug comments, rough angry sex might be just what she needed.

"Aaarrrgggghhhh!" She growled in the dark. "You are driving me crazy!"

"What the hell did I do now?" He rolled over to face her.

"Nothing, it's just… you make me so…"

"Hot, horny, wet?"

"No." She rolled her eyes even thought he couldn't see her. "It's like when I was a kid."

"So it is daddy issues."

"Shut up and let me talk. When I was a kid my mom worked really early. She would wake me up before she left so I could take a shower and stuff before Sarah got up."

"I thought your sister was the good one."

"She was."

"Then why were you taking care of her and not the other way around?"

"She was like eight. She didn't like to feel like she was alone in the house."

"You were only eleven."

"First off, stop trying to psycho analyze me. Second, that's not the point. When my mom left I would always go to the window and wave to her and she would wave back before she got in the car. It was just a thing we did, a moment we had every morning, not really a big deal but kind of a big deal when you're eleven." She paused wondering if any of this was coming out right.

"Ok." House felt the need to insert some sort of acknowledgment lest he be accused of not listening.

"Some mornings I was just lazy and I didn't want to get up yet. I would pretend I was still asleep after she woke me up. She'd go ahead and leave because my alarm was set and I didn't really have to be up so early. After she left I was torn. If I got up and went to the window I was admitting that I had been awake the whole time. If I didn't I missed that moment.

I always got up and went to the window, every single time, but sometimes I laid there being stubborn long enough that she was already in the car or gone. I would be so mad at myself. I would even cry. That doesn't sound like much, but there was a time, before I met you and all, when I didn't cry every other day.

That's what dating you is like. I can't win. Half of me wants to hit you in the face and half of me wants to jump your bones. Whatever I do half of me wants to throw a temper tantrum like four year old that didn't get a toy in their happy meal."

"You want me to put a toy in your happy meal?" House asked.

"I want you to just be an asshole. Don't be sweet and funny and an asshole. Just be an ass."

"Be an asshole? Wouldn't it be easier if I were just sweet and funny?"

"You could never maintain that."

"So if I let you hit me in the face can I get that blow job?"

"If you would just keep your damn mouth shut, you might get more."

He leaned across the pillow and kissed her. She pulled the pillow out of the way and pulled him down on top of her. He kissed her chin, her throat, her ear gently. When his lips found hers again she pressed an aggressive tongue to his lips, but he didn't part them. She tried again before pulling back just a little and flicking him in the back of the head.

"You can open your mouth. Just don't speak unless you're telling me how beautiful and smart I am."

She laughed but his mouth was already on hers muffling the sound, and neither of them spoke much more that night.


	18. Trial and Error

TITLE: Chapter 15 Trial and Error

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: House steals Chris's mail.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

House turned the key in the small metal door and frowned when he saw the mass of flyers and envelopes stuffed inside. He only checked the box a few times a week, but it was never this full. He pulled the contents out in one thick bundle and reviewed them as he walked to the apartment.

Besides his usual bills, junk, and periodical there were a few bills, something from Health and Human services, and a very large very full white envelope addressed to Chris Ramirez. House set them all on the table just inside the door and inspected the heavy package. The return address read "Peace Corps" and was in New York.

House tore open the top and pulled out a handful of pamphlets about how to prepare for you Peace Corps assignments and the many benefits of signing up. There was an optimistic form letter with instructions for a phone interview and orientation schedules. A bright yellow card explained that they had lost many experienced volunteers in a series of mudslides in Asia. They were fast tracking the application and training process to help meet the need created by these natural disasters. Volunteers were needed now more than ever, blah blah blah.

He was stuffing everything back into the package when his phone rang. It was Chris.

"What are you wearing?" He greeted her.

"A thin layer of bacon grease and crusty pancake syrup." He could bustle of the diner in the background.

"That's one way to save on lube."

"Do you want something from the diner? I can grab a pizza on the way."

"Now I just want bacon and pancake syrup."

"Pizza then?"

"Yeah that works."

"Ok."

The line went dead. House looked at the envelope in his hand and then around the room. He didn't really hide it, so much as burry it in plain sight. She couldn't miss it lying face down under a stack of his own neglected mail. It wasn't his fault if she never bothered to read it.

He sat down with a couple fingers of scotch and watched a monster truck rally. Chris came in and dropped a pizza box and paper sack from the diner on the coffee table. She leaned over to kiss his cheek without blocking the screen.

"Scotch? Bad day?"

"Chase got a bad haircut. I'm beside myself with grief."

She laughed. "I'm going to try and scrub the diner smell out of my soul. There are extra onion rings in the bag."

After her shower she wrapped herself in a towel and flopped next to him on the couch. House focused on the TV as Chris pulled two exceptionally light Styrofoam boxes out of the greasy paper bag. She opened the first and found three onion rings. She didn't even bother with the other one.

"Are you serious? I've been on my feet since six in the morning and you ate my dinner?" She tossed an onion ring at his head.

"I told you not to drive the car standing up." He picked the onion ring of the couch and took a bite.

"I called you. There's a whole friggin pizza."

"The burger didn't sound good until you brought it home."

"I would have split it with you."

"If it makes you feel better, the bacon was a little overdone."

"I know. That's how I like it." She hissed through clenched teeth. "What am I supposed to eat now?"

"There's pizza."

She growled and stormed out of the room. A few minutes later she returned fully clothed and holding his wallet. She made sure he was watching as she pulled out a twenty dollar bill and then threw the wallet on top of the untouched pizza box.

"You're not getting change." She said as she walked to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get another burger."

"Wow, that's determination. Are you pregnant?" He just couldn't resist.

She shot him a look that might have actually killed a lesser man and slammed the door behind her.

As her mother's trial neared Chris met with the lawyers more and more often. They seemed to think they had a strong case for the insanity defense, especially after her mother was deemed unfit to even attend the trial. Chris was able to convince Rachel and her family not to come, but House had to be there to testify and Wilson insisted on being there in case House needed him to post bail.

House was called first. The Thompson's lawyer made his testimony seem completely irrelevant by pointing out that he was sleeping with the defendant's daughter and would probably say anything at all. Chris found this highly annoying, especially since nothing in House's statement was being debated. One of the officers that had been on the scene also testified and confirmed most of what House said.

Chris's heart raced as they called her to the stand. Chris wore the blue knee length dress from the awards dinner with a gray cardigan buttoned at the neck. Her hair was clipped back as usual and she didn't wear any makeup. She swore to tell the truth and wondered when they had stopped using bibles.

Her mother's lawyer asked all the questions they had discussed and Chris gave all the answers they had discussed. They established her mother's history of mental illness and lightly touched on the tragic loss of her youngest child without going into any details. She thought it went pretty well and was even beginning to relax by the time he was finished. Then it was time for the Thompson's lawyer to cross examine her, and her heart was in her throat again.

"What was your relationship to Tommy Thompson?" The lawyer asked. He was well groomed. His suit was more expensive and tailored better than her mother's lawyer's.

"We went to school together."

"You mean Plainsboro High School?"

"Yes."

"You've stated that you are twenty one now. Why were you attending a public high school?"

"I missed a few semesters after what happened to my sister. I graduated last semester. I'm in college now."

"You left school after your sister died?"

"No."

"You just said that..."

"She… we were attacked. We both missed a lot of school."

"Can you tell me the nature of these attacks?"

"We were raped."

"In 2005?"

"Yes."

"And you claim to have been raped by Tommy Thompson."

"No. I he never raped me. He drugged me."

"He drugged you?"

"Yes."

"Were you at school when he allegedly drugged you?"

"No."

"So you were more than just classmates. You knew each other socially."

"No. I went to his house to find out what he had poisoned Rachel with. She was dying."

He didn't seem to like where this line of questioning was leading him and switched tracks. "When were you treated for mental illness?"

"2006"

"Was that treatment was successful?"

"Yes."

"Did your mother receive the same treatment?"

"No. She was never hospitalized, only medicated."

"But your mother is mentally ill?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you get her treatment?"

"She's on medication. I didn't think they could do anything more to help her."

"They helped you."

"It was worse for her. She lost a child."

"Didn't you lose a child?"

"I put a baby up for adoption. It's not the same as having your twelve year old bleed to death!"

"You maintain that your mother has been mentally incompetent since your sister's death."

"Yes. After I got out of treatment she was never the same. It seemed like really bad anxiety and depression at first, but never got better."

"When was the last time your mother was herself?"

"I don't know. It's been so long."

"What was happening? How did you know she was lucid the last time that she was lucid?"

"It was after they delivered my baby. It was the only time we ever talked about Sarah being gone."

"What did she say?"

Chris stared at him for what felt like a very long time, until he repeated the question. "She said it was my fault, that it should have been me, and it was all my fault. That is the last sane thing my mother said to me."

The room was still and silent. Chris stared numbly at the wooden banister in front of her, but she knew she's won the case. The lawyer paused to regroup and started aiming his questions to show Chris responsibility for her mother's action. When, instead of defending herself, Chris agreed whole heartedly and said that she never should have left her mother alone he knew his case was lost.

When he finally let her off the stand the judge called a short recess. Chris barely waited for the gavel to hit the bench before running out of the courtroom. She should have taken the time to make sure House was still sitting in the stands. Instead she almost ran into him as she burst out onto the sunny sidewalk.

He had slipped out as soon as they'd let her off the stand.

She scowled at him wishing that he had been anywhere else but that courtroom today or that he was anywhere but there now, just staring at her with equal parts pity and curiosity. "Don't talk." She told him as she enjoyed a cigarette and leaned against the railing a few steps above him. He complied and didn't make direct eye contact as if he was approaching a wild animal in the woods.

As the end of the recess drew near House broke the silence. "You going back in?"

She just shook her head.

"You want to get out of here?"

She nodded. "Where's your bike?"

"At the hospital. I rode with Wilson."

"Let's go get it."

House nodded and followed her to the car. He didn't argue as she climbed into the driver's seat. They rode in silence until they reached the hospital.

"Garage." House told her.

She parked next to the orange motor cycle and un-clicked her seatbelt. Before House could reach for the door she was half in his lap, half draped across the seat, and kissing him so hard it was almost painful. She needed his mouth more than breath, and when she finally pulled away she was gasping and panting.

She reached for his seatbelt and let her hand smooth over the nylon strap in his lap. Then she stopped, sat back in her seat, and stared out the windshield at nothing. She didn't want to seem desperate. Even if she was desperate it wasn't for him, but for the distraction he brought.

"You ok?" She couldn't tell if the concern in his voice was meant to mask his curiosity or the other way around.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You seem just peachy."

"It's not the best day I ever had, but definitely not the worst. I'm really ok." She nodded as if this made her statement more effective.

"Not mad at that lawyer, or your mom, or yourself? Things are swell."

"She's not going to prison. That's good. I'm relieved. That was a celebratory kiss."

"You should be mad. She had no right…"

Chris sighed. Why couldn't he leave it alone? "House, she never said it."

"What?"

"I lied. I couldn't think of an answer. It was a dumb question. He was just trying to trap me. It made him look like a total prick and reinforced mom's damage. It was actually pretty clever."

"So you just made it up? She didn't blame you? It just seemed like the thing to say?" House scrutinized her movement and expression.

"I'm sure she blamed me, but she never said it. She wasn't a terrible mom." She meant to leave it that, but the rest of her thought spilled out of her mouth before she could catch it. "I said it, a few hours before I took all of my post op meds and a bottle of Motrin I swiped from the nurse's station. Post partum hormones are a real bitch when you don't have anything cute and cuddly to take home."

"You did it at the hospital? That's just stupid."

"I did it at the pharmacy and then took a nap on an empty subway car. A youth group from Kansas just happened to be passing out tracts to homeless people. When the power of prayer didn't wake me they called 911. "

"Do you still have the tract?"

"Yep, the kid that found me still writes every time he uses me as a sermon illustration" She smiled to herself and wondered how Jeremy was doing these days. Then she kissed House on the cheek and popped out of the car. She stood beside his bike and waited for him follow her.

"Where to?" He asked as he got out.

"Anywhere. As fast as you dare." She waited for him to get on and climbed up behind him.

They roared out of the garage only to stop a few yards away for a procession of emergency vehicles. He took the back way around, avoiding as many stops and as much traffic as possible. At House's command the bike weaved through the concrete jungle of the hospital district, zipped passed the suburbs in one gulp, and finally found its wings on a winding open road that meandered toward the interstate.

Per her request, he rode as fast he dared with her behind him. Her arms held tight around his waist and he felt her gasp a few times, but never protest. Her body followed his, leaning and swaying with the machine and fighting every instinct that said to do just the opposite. The adrenaline seemed to course between them feeding one spectacular high.

When they had to stop for gas they were two towns away and it was late afternoon. Chris went into the station for a bottle of water and then sat at a nearby picnic table to smoke a cigarette. House sat next to her on the table taking a drag from the cigarette first and then drinking from the water bottle.

"That's almost better than sex." She said.

"Almost." He agreed.

"Does it make you happy?" She asked.

"Sure." House shrugged the question off.

"What else makes you happy?"

"Drugs, the giving and receiving of orgasms… not necessarily in that order."

Her laugh was light, but it seemed to weigh her down. "I'm serious. What makes you happy? You're work? It doesn't seem like it. It seems … not really even satisfying, more like satiating maybe. Like methadone instead of heroin."

He couldn't have described it better himself, not that he'd ever tell her that, or even try to describe it. "Music." He said.

"Music doesn't count. It's designed to create false emotions. Play the Titanic song for anyone who had to go to a funeral or work in a movie theatre that year and you're going to get a reaction. It's nothing to do with Jack or Rose."

"It brings back a memory, the memory brings up an emotion. If I remember you in that Lara Croft get up and get a rise in my Levi's is it false?"

She thought about this for a moment.

"Do you still have that outfit?" House asked.

"I've got electrical tape, that's the most important part right?" She grinned and he grinned, and they shared a moment of silence for all the fun things that might be done with electrical tape. "So that's it? Sex, drugs, rock n roll, and the motorcycle? You really are a teenage boy."

"Were you fishing for a compliment? Was I supposed to say 'you'?"

"If I wanted a compliment from you I'd use a script and a bribe." She smirked.

"I thought it was sort of implied by the orgasm part anyways."

She laughed again and it seemed lighter. "You thought that was a compliment? No wonder you have to pay for sex."

"What does that say about you?"

"That I am remarkably kind and benevolent." She leaned over and kissed him and then laid her head on his shoulder at a not particularly comfortable angle. "I just thought you'd have something more original to say." That wasn't entirely true. She'd expected him to say nothing, either literally because "nothing" made him happy, or not to answer at all.

"What about you?" He said.

"Hmmm?" She was lost in her own thoughts about what really made him, or her, or anyone happy or unhappy.

"What makes you happy?"

She didn't speak at first. "If I say something awkward do you promise to at least take me back to Plainsboro before you run away screaming?"

"I promise, and if I don't keep it I'll at least tell Wilson where to come pick you up."

She turned her body towards him and lifted her head so that she was looking into his eyes. "You make me happy. When we're like this, and you're close enough to touch and not doing or saying anything awful, you make me as happy as I can ever remember being."

She looked away and they didn't speak. She thought surely she had said too much. She waited for him to signal it was time to leave or crack a joke, but he didn't. The silence was unbearable.

"I don't like it."

"Being happy?" House snickered and slipped his arms around her waist, sensing she needed some signal that he was not nearly as uncomfortable as she was.

"Being the girl who is happy just because she's getting laid. My world is falling apart and you can still make me laugh. It's a little lame."

"You're happy because the world is falling down. You're free. It has nothing to do with me."

She turned her face up at him again trying to see if he meant what he was saying. "That makes me sound much cooler, kind of a bitch, but at least not a needy bitch." She smiled. "It's still a got a little to do with you."

He pulled her closer and kissed her. "Maybe a little."


	19. Making Lies

TITLE: Chapter 16 Making Lies

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY:

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

It was raining hard and Chris stood under the diner's awning chain smoking. House was half an hour late picking her up and not answering his phone. She tossed the butt into a puddle that used to be a flower bed and checked the time on her phone as he pulled up in front of her. He'd pulled in the wrong way, so that his door faced her and she had to walk around the car in the rain to get in.

"You're late." She said.

"You're wet."

"You could have called."

"You could have waited inside."

"I need to go by my house."

"It can't wait?"

"No. I need to check the mail."

"Your mail is forwarded. Whose mail are we going to check?"

"Apparently I'm not getting all my mail."

She left it at that. House paid attention to the road and Chris stewed. At the house she jerked out of the car and up the walk. She sifted through the junk in the mail box a few times and then stuffed it back inside. She got back in the car, sighed, and stared out the window away from her old home.

"What was that all about?" House pressed.

"I missed an important call today."

"They didn't leave a number?"

"It was a phone interview. I called back and talked them into rescheduling, but it doesn't look good."

"I didn't know you were still looking for a job."

"It's not a job."

"School? Country club?"

"The Peace Corps, not that it matters now."

"You want to join the Peace Corp?"

"I applied when my mom was still at Princeton Plainsboro. I was using one of the café computers and just thought 'why the hell not?' I had no reason to stay here. I was only stalking you at that point."

"I knew it!" House laughed.

"It worked." She winked at him and shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter. I'm not really qualified anyways. I'm shocked that they even considered me."

"You want to get a drink?"

"Desperately."

"Benigan's?" House grinned.

"Wherever you normally go is fine."

"You've already vetoed strip clubs."

"Just find a damn bar." She laughed.

He pulled into a little dive as the rain slowed. They got out and he led her to a dimly lit table near the glaring digital jukebox. A pretty middle aged woman named Dianne wearing too much makeup and perfume came to take their order.

"What do you make with Blue Curacao?" House asked her. She pointed to a few items on the drink menu. "She'll have the Tiki Tea without the juice."

Waitress looked from him to Chris. "Do you want that as a drink or a shot?"

Chris looked up at House to see if he intended to answer for her too. This really seemed to upset the Dianne. "Uh the drink I guess."

"For you?" The waitress asked House.

"Do you have Killian's on tap?"

"Yes." She nodded and flipped the menu onto the table and pointed to the list of beers.

"Then that's what I'll have."

Chris smiled as the waitress left and whispered. "I think she hates you. Is she a former patient?"

"Ex girlfriend."

"You probably shouldn't drink that beer then."

"Why the Peace Corps?"

"It's a two year vacation from my life, all expenses paid, and they give you money when you get done. They even provide health insurance, and dental, and eye. I haven't had my eyes checked since middle school."

"It's not actually a vacation. They expect you to work."

"I'm always working. Why not do it somewhere with a view? I don't know. I thought it would be cool. I might make a difference, change a life, or save a life."

"You'd be alone in a foreign country."

"I was alone in this country." She stopped. They both focused on the word 'was' as the waitress set a froth dripping beer in front of House and bright blue drink in front of Chris. "Thank you." Chris said.

"You're welcome" House replied. Both women shot him a dirty look.

Chris inspected the drink, smiled, and took a sip through the red swizzle stick. "It's like a snow cone. That's really cute."

House sat up proudly and took a drink of his beer.

"If you'd asked me last year the chances of me getting out of Jersey I would have laughed and said 'only if the cops were chasing me'. I can't believe I was this close and the post office screwed me up."

"They rescheduled the interview."

"I got the distinct impression that nobody misses their interview and actually gets accepted. We'll see. They were desperate enough to consider a candy striper." She sighed and finished the drink.

"You might want to pace yourself, unless you want snow cones to go the way of the melon ball."

She grimaced. "Why would you say that?"

"To see if your face would stick that way."

"I have to pee. I'll have another if she comes back."

House nodded and Chris slid out of the booth and paused to get her bearings as soon as her feet hit the floor. When she returned there was a glass of water and another Tiki Tea on the table. She held the side of the booth as she inched into the seat.

"Those are really strong." She told him.

"You don't have to drink it."

"Oh I'm gonna drink it." She pulled the glass towards her. "This is the last one though. I don't want to puke."

"Hydrate." He looked at the water.

"Yeah, yeah. Why aren't you drunk yet?"

"Someone has to drive. Wilson's at a conference."

Chris laughed a little louder than usual. "Wilson's cool. You'd be lost without him."

"I'd manage."

"Looost!" She stretched the word into a sentence.

"I'm cutting you off."

"You can't cut me off. I already cut me off." She paused and wrinkled her brow. "Did that sound dirty." She laughed again and her cheeks flushed bright pink.

House laughed at her. "I think it's time to take you home."

Chris giggled. "The waitress was right. You're trying to take advantage of me."

"Is it working?"

"Fo shizzle my Hizzle." She delivered with an almost straight face.

House paid for the drink and listened to her chatter as he drove home. As soon as they were inside he turned and pinned her against the door with a deep kiss. She let him slip her shirt off. They made it a few steps towards the bedroom before she pressed him against the couch. Her lips kissed his as her hands impatiently removed his belt.

They continued through the apartment and down the hall taking turns being ravaged and undressed and leaving a trail of clothing behind them. She was wearing red lacey panties and one white ankle sock when they reached the bedroom.

He pushed her against the doorframe and held her hands above her head on both sides of the wall. He pulled away and she stretched on her tip toes to keep his lips on hers. He gave her a few more teasing kisses and grinned down at her.

"Are you in love with me?"

"What?" She froze. This was not the type of pillow talk she was looking for.

"You heard me." He was smiling.

"Did you get me drunk to ask me that?" She pulled her hands free and crossed them in front of her.

"I got you a drink because you were upset. You're drunk because you're a light weight." He kissed her cheek and pressed his body into hers.

"Then why…" She swallowed and leaned into his lips on her neck. "Are you in love with me?"

He looked at her. "I'm not drunk."

She huffed. "Well I'm not saying it first."

House laughed and pulled her towards the bed. "But you're not denying it."

"Shut up and take your pants off." She hopped onto the bed, pulled off her sock, and threw it at him

She didn't recognize the number, but she was pretty sure it was a New York area code. She tried to stifle her hope. They'd said they would call within the week, and that was almost a month ago. This was probably just a telemarketer. All of this passed through her mind before she answered on the second ring.

"Hello."

"May I speak to Christ-allen Ramirez?"

"This is Chris."

"Hello this is Sandra with the Peace Corps New York recruitment office."

Chris couldn't speak.

"Hello?"

"Yes. Hello." Chris stammered.

After that she mostly listened and paced the apartment, nodding her head even though no one could see her. They were sorry for the short notice, but if she was still available they'd like her to come in for a final interview in New York. There was a group orientation beginning in one week and they would like for her to be a part of it.

They had received a glowing recommendation from the administrator of the hospital where she volunteered. It explained some of her recent circumstances and how serious she was about joining the program. That and an "increased demand for volunteers at this time" had led them to reconsider her application.

Chris agreed a few more times, wrote down several dates and times, and gave them her current address again. She wasn't aware of her heart racing until she hung up the phone. She ran a trembling finger across the keys of the piano and took a deep breath. In her head she began compiling a list of everything she had to do before she left, but carefully avoided the thought of telling House.

She opened the phonebook and dialed the number on the first "We buy ugly houses" add that she saw. Then she called a storage facility, her mother's lawyers, and Rachel. When House got home she was patting a large steak dry with a paper towel. The minute she heard his key in the door she knew she had no intention of telling him. He'd figure it out. He made a comment on how well she rubbed his meat and pulled two beers out of the fridge.

"This one's mine." She informed him.

"I guess you'd be even better with it." He opened the bottles and set one next to the cutting board she was working on.

"Thanks." She moved to the sink and pushed the lever up with her elbow to wash her hands.

House pulled a brochure from his jacket and handed it to her when her hands were dry.

"What's this?"

"Bed and Breakfast, actually it's just a brochure."

"You never struck the as th type."

He pulled out another brochure with a cartoon jeep driving up a cliff completely vertical. "They rent jeeps and ATV's for mudding on the back of the property."

"That sounds more like it."

"I got the most expensive room in the place. It's not the Ritz, but there's a fireplace and a heart shaped Jacuzzi."

"They actually make those?" She took a drink of her beer.

House opened the pamphlet to show her a picture of an actual heart shaped Jacuzzi. "It makes sense. You can achieve twice as many positions in that as you would in a regular round tub."

Her smile was real when he said it, but it took all her strength to maintain it when she suddenly remembered she couldn't go. She turned her attention to the asparagus. "When?"

"Three weeks from Friday. That gives you enough time to get off right."

"It would, but I've got midterms that week."

"Reservation's for the weekend."

"That's what I meant. I'll need to study that weekend." She recovered without a beat lost. "Maybe another time."

"I can push it back to the next weekend."

Damn. She couldn't think of a way out of that. She started to agree, just to let him make the reservation and hope that he could get a refund later, but she made the mistake of looking him in the eye. "No, let's do it now, this week. We could go tonight."

House knew as soon as she said it. He knew she was leaving and that she didn't mean to tell him. He knew why. He knew he didn't want her to go and that he couldn't offer her any reason to stay. "What about work? School?"

"One class isn't a big deal. Leon was asking for more hours today and I'm off Wednesday and Thursday anyways."

He nodded. "I'll see what they have open." He didn't know why he didn't argue.

She could hear him talking while she finished her beer and their dinner. She put two pieces of asparagus next to his streak and mashed potatoes even though she knew he wouldn't eat them. She set the plates on the coffee table and sat next to him.

"Well?"

"They're booked up tomorrow, but we're set for Wednesday and Thursday. And the weeknight rates are lower so we have a credit towards the Jeep rental."

"Perfect." She smiled and her eyes glistened a little more than usual as she reached for her plate.

He wanted to question her. When was she leaving? When was she planning on telling him? Had she even considered staying there with him? Instead he pushed the asparagus away from his steak as if it might somehow contaminate it.

They ate. She washed the dishes. They made love. She was surprised how easy it was to pretend everything was normal. He wasn't surprised at all.

She barely slept that night. Ticking off her to do list in her mind she tossed and turned and watched the clock. She tried to imagine where she would go, what she would see, who she would meet. It seemed like every time she worked up the appropriate level of excitement House would shift in his sleep and she would crash again. This was the best thing that could ever have happened to her. Why was she letting him make it so sad?

In the early morning hours she gave up being reasonable or rational and let herself watch him sleep. She gave no excuse or pretense when he woke and caught her staring at him. She held his gaze and offered a weak smile. He lifted his arm, inviting her to burrow into him and have it wrapped round her shoulders. She did and hid her face against his chest.

They lay still like that so long that if not for her shallow breaths and rigid muscles he might have thought she'd fallen asleep. He stroked her hair and pretended to doze. When she finally looked up at him, he braced himself for words he didn't want to hear. Instead she kissed him.

It was a slow soft kiss, as if the weight of words they hadn't said were holding her back. In truth she was focusing on every sensation. She meant to memorize him, from the smell of his skin to the scrape of his stubble and the pressure of his morning glory against her thigh. The taste of his throat was saltier than his shoulders and chest. He tensed just little when her kiss tickled his stomach. The low guttural sound he made when she took him in her mouth sent such a shock through her that she knew she'd never forget it.

After sharing a shower and breakfast he left for work and she went to meet the buyers of ugly houses. They inspected the house and made an offer that was about thirty thousand less than she knew the house was worth even if it was a piece of crap. She told them that. They offered another five. She pointed out the proximity to the bus route, college, and hospital before accepted another ten. The sale was 'as is' with the condition that the paperwork had to be final that day and the check had to clear before she left town. She didn't mention that she had no intention of moving any of the furniture or cleaning anything at all. She figured the meth chef that moved in next wouldn't care that much.

She packed a few boxes of sentimental crap. She didn't really want most of it, but she knew she probably would someday. She took a few trunk loads of clothes and household items to the local shelter and dropped a sack of food on a neighbor's porch. She didn't know the elderly man that lived there, but she'd seen the meals on wheels truck stop there a few times.

The day was gone by the time she withdrew from her classes, talked with the financial aid office, and found a storage place she trusted to still be open in three years. House was there at the piano when she got home. He didn't ask her where she'd been. He knew he was supposed to think she was working even though his car hadn't been parked at the diner.

They made love on the piano bench before dinner and then again before bed. Even the most trivial conversation felt like a rouse, but being naked and sweaty seemed like a suitable alternative to being honest. Moans and cries of pleasure were the only words that didn't sound like lies. So they moaned instead of lying.


	20. Archie

TITLE: Chapter 17 Archie

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING:

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: Drug use

SUMMARY: House enlists the help of high school to save a patient.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

Whoever said "You don't really know a person until you've lived with them." clearly never spent three hours alone in car with anyone they ever lived with. Maybe the ride would have been easier if she wasn't feeling the guilt of letting him take her on a mini-break when he didn't even know she was leaving him. Maybe if he wasn't using everything she did and didn't do to build a case against her they could have played Eye Spy and mooned truckers.

He'd given her control of the IPod. He figured as long as it was his they would be safe from angry girl music and pop princesses. What he hadn't figured was that a girl born in 1990 would know every word to every Aerosmith song ever recorded. When they stopped for gas and breakfast he deleted every Aerosmith album from the player while she was in the bathroom. He was pretty sure he had them on his computer, but wasn't overly concerned. He couldn't imagine ever needing to heat Jaded again.

She hadn't been looking for another Steven Tyler ballad, but she did notice that was not even one left.

"Really?" She scowled at him.

House kept his eyes on the road.

"You can't just say 'Hey play something else.'?"

"I could've said 'What did my ears do to you?'."

"I turned it up so you couldn't hear me."

"I could hear you."

"I have seen you do a twelve minute air guitar solo. You're not above singing along with the radio."

"You can't hear air guitar."

"You can see it, and believe me I could have made it my whole life without seeing you have a seizure while taking a crap to the tune of Purple Haze."

They rode in silence the rest of the way. The billboards for the ATV Park weren't even enough to lighten the mood. House pulled the car into the tree line drive and followed the signs until they reached a large clearing. Chris gasped and he turned to see her jaw drop and her face light up.

The blue gray Victorian mansion was the closest thing to a fairy tale castle that Chris could ever have imagined. The intricate white trim, shutters, and railings framed the building like white lace. She looked at him and smiled. He smiled back and pulled around to the guest parking.

Pink flowers and antique lamp stands outlined the wide walkway that led to the front doors. House opened the door for her and she only smirked a little bit. There was no one at the desk. House rang the bell. Chris circled the room looking at every picture, flower, and piece of gleaming wooden furniture. She stopped in front of the fireplace and watched the flames.

"Never seen a fireplace before?" House joked and handed her a key.

"No actually." She shook her head.

"There's one in the room."

They took the elevator all the way up to the renovated attic. When it opened they stepped out into a small hallway with only one other door. They walked into a sitting room that was dripping with the same florals and antiques as the rest of the building. The room opened on the other side to a patio with a small breakfast table and a golden chase lounge.

There were two large sofas in the middle of the room that faced each other. To the right of them was the fireplace with a large white fur rug in front of it. A huge flat screen TV hung to the left flanked by doors on either side. One door led to the bedroom, the other to a dressing room and then the bathroom that also opened into the bedroom.

Chris took her time inspecting the room before following House to the bedroom. He was standing still staring at a bed that was bigger than some apartments. Chris followed his gaze to the carved posts and arched canopy and cream lace panels that flowed under them.

"Dear God!" She stepped back when she saw it, bigger than a bobcat and dangling from a tarnished chain directly above the bed. It was a highly detailed anatomically correct wooden cherub smiling down at the bed as if he remembered what the last guests had done there.

They laughed so hard that tears streamed down their faces and they collapsed at the foot of the bed holding their sides. They caught their breath and then looked up and started all over again. Eventually Chris stood on the bed to get a closer look. She reached up on her tip toes to touch the cubby wooden foot.

Just before she made contact House growled and grabbed her foot. She started, squealed, and lost her balance. In another bed this might have been dangerous, but she was still about half a mile from the headboard when she landed on the mattress with a gentle bounce. They laughed again.

House moved up and lay next to her on the bed. She rolled into his arms and they kissed lazily for a few minutes. She giggled when he grabbed her ass.

"He's watching." She looked up at the cherub.

"Let's give him something to see then." House slipped his hand under her shirt.

She laughed. "Seriously, I don't think I can do it looking up at that."

House flopped over and pulled her with him. "There. You get on top. That way you can't see him staring at you."

"Bleh." She shuddered and grimaced. "That's even creepier."

"I paid too much for this bed not to have sex in it."

"I have strict no giant voyeuristic baby policy. We can do it in the hot tub."

"Archie's not a baby."

"Archie?" She asked.

"Archie Angel."

Chris rolled her eyes.

"He's clearly just a fat midget who wears more sunscreen than you."

"Oh well that case it's totally hot. Does he have any requests?" She laughed.

House paused like he was listening and his eyes got very big. "He wants to know if you've brought a curling iron and a remote control car."

"I left them at the last hotel I stayed in." She shook her head.

"He's very disappointed."

"That's understandable."

"He thinks he might be able to forgive you if you don't wear any clothes for the rest of the trip."

"That might make four wheeling awkward."

"He says you can wear clothes outside of the room and that now you're just being silly."

"Well if it will please Archie." She grinned and pulled her shirt off.

"Oh it absolutely will." House unbuttoned her pants. "He's already sporting a little wood."

It took them quite a while to make it out of the room again. When they finally made it to the park they only had a few hours of daylight left. They decided to take ATV's and get a Jeep the next day. They raced each other over the terrain wagering money, chores, and sexual favors. By the time the sun set they had completely lost track of who owed what.

They were informed that they would have to change clothes to eat in the dining room, even though it was completely deserted, but they were welcome to eat in the bar where a group of about a dozen men were shouting at a NASCAR race. Chris sat at the bar and looked at the menu while House argued with the manager.

A man came to the bar and ordered a beer. He sat next to Chris even though the rest of the stools were empty. When she looked over at him he seemed surprised to see her there.

"You come her a lot?" He asked.

"First time." She replied as she read his baseball cap, 'Instant asshole just add beer'.

"I'm having a party in my room later. You should come by."

"I'm here with someone." She looked over her shoulder at House who was still in the lobby with the manager.

"You could come by when he falls asleep." He grinned and leaned towards her. "How long does your dad stay _up_ anyways?"

"He's not my father, and he'll be up _all_ night." She stood to leave. The drunk grabbed her wrist and she turned back to face him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. He pressed a key into the palm of her hand and let her wrist go. "In case you change your mind."

She smiled and looked over her shoulder to see if House was watching then lowered her voice to a whisper. "You should tell all your friends you gave me this."

"Oh yeah why?" He looked very pleased with himself.

She smiled ever so sweetly. "If I can manage to sneak away later and stop by your room…" She leaned back and raised her voice. "You'll have witnesses to tell the cops who sliced off your balls and shoved them down your throat."

House walked in as she said the last part and looked from her to the drunk without a word.

"Or I'll just throw it in the lake and you can pay to have the locks changed." She held the key up and then slipped it in her pocket. She picked up the menu, turned, and walked away.

"We're eating in the dining room." House said grabbing her ass and leaving his hand there until they were out of view from the bar.

Most of the dinner menu came family style and served at least two. It made it very difficult not to over order. They shared steak, salmon, crab cakes, stuffed mushrooms, and a vat of mashed sweet potatoes that they could have bathed in if they'd had the forethought. By the time the waiter brought out a wheel of cheesecake the size of a human head they decided to have it wrapped up and sent to their room.

Before they left Chris gave the asshole's spare key to the waiter and said that she found it in the parking lot. House popped opened a bottle of champagne when they got to the room, and they both promptly ignored it after a few sips. Next they climbed into the hot tub. They were too full and hot for anything especially dirty but it didn't matter.

House leaned back on one half of the heart and let the water cover his legs. Chris leaned diagonal across his chest and let her feet dangle over the edge by the faucet. After the heater went of the first time they rearranged and he sat between her legs while she stretched the length of the tub and ran it one more time. They dried off and decided it was time for bed.

They made a few lewd gestures at Archie and climbed under the crisp white sheets. She put her head on his chest and they held each other that way for a long time without sleeping.

"I wish we could stay here forever." She whispered so softly that if he had been asleep it wouldn't have woken him.

He didn't say any of the accusations that came to mind. Instead he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

"I'm leaving on Tuesday, joining the Peace Corps." Her voice wasn't any louder.

"I know."

"How?" She twisted her head up at him even though she couldn't make out his expression in the dark.

"I didn't know it would be Tuesday. I knew it was in the next three weeks."

She nodded."They got a letter from Cuddy. It's odd because I didn't use her as a reference."

House didn't respond.

"Thank you." The words came out as a sob and her body convulsed against his. They both waited for the tears to come, but she didn't let them. He could feel her tense and hold her breath as she willed them away.

"I threw away the first package they sent." He confessed when he knew she'd recovered her composure. His voice held no remorse.

She sighed. "I wish you hadn't told me. I kind of figured, but I was presuming your innocence."

"I thought it' would make it easier for you." He lied.

"It doesn't."

Chris was sitting under a tree and House lay next to her with his head in her lap. A few yards away the Jeep looked almost exactly like the vertical cartoon Jeep on the cover of the brochure, except for bent sapling sticking through the back end and folded under the wind shield, and the lack of a back bumper.

"If you really want to stay here forever just slip under that back wheel and say your back hurts. You'll own this place."

"And if it slips and actually crushes me?'

"I'm a doctor. You'll be fine."

"You just don't want to lose your deposit."

Everything had been going fine until the asshole from the night before had driven by and thrown a beer can at them. They'd spent a long time catching up to them and hurling insults. This led to an unofficial race, which led to the assholes officially eating their dust, and then driving them off the non-road.

The crash itself had been startling, but once they'd checked that all their appendages were as they remembered they couldn't stop laughing. House had a large cut across his face from the sapling and Chris had sprained her wrist trying to catch herself when they fell.

They called the hotel and waited for help to arrive. The owner of the park and hotel followed the tow truck driver in another jeep.

"What the hell happened?" The owner asked.

"Another Jeep ran us off the cliff." House explained.

"Backwards?"

"They were drunk. They'd been trying to play bumper cars with us all afternoon." This got the owners attention. The park prohibited alcohol of course, but they didn't make a habit of checking bags or coolers especially on a Thursday. House measured the man's expression and banked on it. "How did they get a twelve pack in here anyways? Are they regulars?"

"They were obviously drunk when they came in last night too." Chris added.

"We'll look into it. If they were drinking they will be asked to leave."

"Asked to leave? We could have been killed." House tested the water.

"We'd like to press charges." Chris jumped in. It was a bit hasty considering that an actual police investigation would have uncovered House's Vicodin use and her threats from the night before, but it paid off.

"Of course they wouldn't be invited back and would be responsible for the damages to both vehicles." The owner pandered. "As long as no one was injured I don't see any reason to go through the hassle of calling the police. You're looking at hours of questions and paperwork."

"I should probably have this checked out." Chris held out her bruised swollen wrist. She twisted her arm and half curled her fingers to make it look especially ugly. House almost laughed.

"I told you it's not broken." House said to her. Chris harrumphed and held her wrist limp at her side as House turned to the owner. "I'm a doctor. She just needs a soak in a tub and a stiff drink."

"Of course. Our honeymoon suites have hot tubs. We can upgrade you."

"We're already in a suite." House smiled his best 'What else you got?' smile.

"And complimentary room service and equipment rentals for the rest of your stay."

House was in his zone. The whole ride back to the inn Chris watched him collect promises. He would have passes and vouchers good for another full weekend at the park and the inn as well as his full deposit back and the assurance of a huge discount at the antique mall up the road.

Back at the inn the owner assured them that a security team, which they knew was just a few spare employees in one of the rental jeeps, was looking for the group that had caused the problem and that it would be taken care of. House thanked him and clapped him on the back. Just to ice the cake he asked if they bar kept any fine spirits that weren't on the menu. After a few moments the owner went to the bar and returned with a fourth of a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label.

"That was crazy hot." Chris told him when they were alone in the room.

"The lying, manipulating, or the stealing?" House asked as he poured whiskey into a plastic cup from the mini bar.

"All of it?" Chris cocked her head to the side and thought about it. "That's not healthy is it?"

House offered to pour her a glass and she frowned. "What's it taste like?"

"Scotch." He handed her his glass and sat next to her on the couch.

She smelled it and her frown turned to a wince. She took a tiny sip and made herself swallow it. She shook her head and stuck out her tongue with a heavy breath. "Nope I'm good."

House chuckled and took the glass back.

"That guy basically paid you for crashing his Jeep and those douche bags will have to make up the difference." She leaned across his chest.

"It's a gift." House agreed and used his free hand to pull her face to his.

She pulled back and twisted her face. "You taste like scotch."

"You're welcome to taste elsewhere."

The drive home went much smoother. They played word association for a while.

Chris started.

"Word."

"Count."

"Sheep."

"Echinococcosis."

"What the hell is that?" Chris asked.

"Parasite that's common in sheep."

"How am I supposed to associate a word I've never heard before?"

"I thought the only rule was no repeats." He shrugged.

"Maybe we should play something else."

"You could flash truckers." House suggested.

"That's not a game."

"We could bet on how many honk for you."

"I could drive and you could flash the truckers. Would you rather?" She asked.

"Rather what?"

"Be struck by lightning or attacked by a shark?"

"Are those my punishments for not playing word association to your standards?"

"It's a game. You name two scenarios and the other person has to choose one."

"Ok."

"Shark or lightening?"

"Will I die?"

"Ummm maybe. I guess it depends how far you are from a hospital and where they bite."

"Lightning is more likely to be fatal, but a shark could amputate a limb."

"You're thinking too much."

"Lightning."

Chris guessed that that meant he would still rather die than lose a limb. She didn't comment though. "Ok. Your question."

"Wait we should both answer each question. Would you choose shark or lightning?"

"Shark. It's a way cooler story."

"Penelope Cruz or Selma Hayek?"

"What's the difference?"

"Have you seen Vicky Christina Barcelona?"

"No."

"Ok. You can defer judgment until we remedy that."

She laughed. "So is it my question?"

"Sure."

"Britney or Christina?"

"Musically Christina. Sexually Britney."

"Really?"

"Why are you surprised?"

"She's just so boring. I mean she's pretty enough, and she's got the sex kitten thing going but it's so fake."

"Men don't care if it's fake. All men want to sleep with Britney Spears."

"I'm sure most men on the planet have never even heard of Britney Spears."

"Men who know who she is want to sleep with her. She embodies the 'lady in the streets whore between the sheets' principle."

"When is she a lady?"

"It's just her face. She'll look sweet, innocent, and barely legal until she's forty. She looks young enough that you know you're doing something wrong but aren't worried about going to jail."

She considered this. "Was that my appeal?"

"Yes. I knew it was my last shot to sleep with an actual school girl."

"Nice." Chris laughed.

"Too bad it wasn't a catholic school."

"I got the outfit."

"But it's just not the same as an actual uniform."

"The skirt is shorter and the top is see-through. It's hotter than any real uniform."


	21. Goobyes

TITLE: Chapter 18 Goodbyes

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Goodbye's always suck.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

Chris spent Friday dotting I's and crossing T's. Everything was ready. It was kind of scary how easy it was to uproot her entire life. The money for the house hit the bank and would be available in one week. She instructed the diner to forward her last check to Rachel's address and Rachel agreed to deposit it if she promised to write. She bought her bus ticket at the station so that House couldn't go online and interfere, not that she really thought he would at that point.

The McKenna's insisted on taking her out for a farewell dinner. They insisted that she have the lobster when she said she'd never tried it. When they plates were cleared and the check had been taken care of Rachel's mom pulled a small bag from her purse. They all smiled as Chris awkwardly accepted and began thanking them before she'd even opened it.

She pulled a long package wrapped in pink and green striped paper from the bag and opened it. It was a wooden case that held a golden pen with her name engraved on it. "For writing home." Rachel told her. A second smaller package was wrapped in the same paper. Her eyes welled when she opened it. It held a small filigree cross with an opal in the center. She held it up and noticed the chain was extra long and sturdy.

"To keep you safe." Rachel's mom said sniffing and dotting her eyes with a napkin.

"Thank you." Chris told them over and over again as they hugged and said their goodbyes.

She wore the necklace home. House didn't comment on it when she sat at the piano bench next to him. He played a slow bluesy melody that she didn't recognized. It seemed to fit. She told him that she was going to spend Saturday at the hospital with her mom, but that Sunday was all his. She'd do anything he wanted, even if it involved a strip club.

The visit with her mother was exhausting, the way that visiting a sick loved one always is even when they are sane. Sherry seemed to understand that Chris wouldn't be able to visit for while by the end of the day. Chris sat in the car and cried for a long time before she drove home.

When she walked in House looked up from a glass of whiskey with a steel gaze. "What else did you steal?"

"What?"

"You stole my Rolling Stones shirt and a CD." He motioned to the two items sitting on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry. You never wear it. I just wanted something to remember."

"This isn't a gift shop. We don't sell souvenirs."

"Why the hell were you going through my bags?"

"I was looking for my Ramones CD."

"That's not even yours. Rachel gave it to me when she realized she doesn't actually give a crap about punk rock." She snatched the case off the table. "Your copy is in your computer. It's been there as long as I've lived here."

She went to the bedroom and started repacking her suitcase. She heard House turning on the computer. She went to the doorway and listened as the CD drive opened and closed again. She held onto the door frame and forced herself not to go to him as "I Wanna Be Sedated" started automatically. She heard the door open and slam shut when he left.

House called Wilson from the bar when he decided he didn't want to be sober enough to drive again that night. Wilson showed up about half an hour later and sat next to him at the bar. He ordered a beer and waited for House to say something.

"Some designated driver you are."

"I assumed we'd be here a while."

House grunted.

"So she didn't like the Bed and Breakfast?"

"She's leaving."

"Moving out? Tell her you want her to stay. You're the one who said it was temporary."

"Leaving the country."

Wilson looked at him and waited for more information.

"Peace Corps."

"I thought they usually took college graduates."

House glared at him. "You're not surprised?"

"She used me as a reference."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"I didn't think they'd accept her."

"She speaks three languages. Her school offered an advanced health. She's practically a surgeon by third world standards."

"I'm sorry."

House knocked back his scotch and motioned for another.

"When?" Wilson asked.

"Tuesday."

"If you've only got two days why you wasting your time here?"

"You think I can change her mind?" House perked up.

"I think you can either mope until she's glad to be rid of you, or you can make the most of it and give her something to miss."

"What do I do?"

"Take her for nice dinner. Give her something to remember you by. Tell her you don't want her to leave."

"I can't make her stay."

"No, but you can make sure she knows she has the option."

They didn't leave until the bar was closing and House passed out in the car on the drive home. Wilson woke him and helped him to the door, but it was a slow clumsy process. It took both of them to find House's keys and get the door unlocked.

Chris was sitting in House's overstuffed chair with her legs curled under her. A cigarette hung from her lips, ear bud wires framed her face, and she was bent over a stack of paperwork and pamphlets. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and not much else. She looked up when the door opened and reached for a throw to cover herself with when she saw Wilson.

"Shit. You could warn me when you bring friends home." She scowled at House

"No, he couldn't. Your phone's turned off." Wilson's tone was colder than he intended or anyone expected.

"You could warn me before you move to Peru." House chimed in too drunk to think of a better comeback.

Chris looked at her phone and saw she had two missed calls and a voicemail. She decided not to mention that there was a home phone. She moved to get up and help House to bed but Wilson was already herding him that way.

"I've got it." Wilson nodded. "You get to deal with the hangover."

She heard grumbling and laughter. The toilet flushed and something clattered on the counter in the bathroom. She stood up and wrapped the blanket around herself like a towel. After a while Wilson backed out of the room and closed the door gently.

"He didn't drink all that much, but it's hard to say how much Vicodin he had."

Chris just nodded.

"You didn't even tell him you were applying?"

"I didn't think they'd accept me. I almost forgot I'd even done it. It was all online; right after my mom went in. I applied everywhere but the Army. I still get emails about study abroad programs and mission trips, but I can't afford those."

"So that's it. You're just leaving. No discussion. His feeling be damned?"

"I can't pass this up to spare House's _feelings_." She said 'feelings' as if it was an unproven theory. "He'll be fine. He'll get over me before he's finished dialing the next hooker's phone number."

"You don't believe that. You're just making excuses to run away."

"I don't care how he deals." She checked herself to keep her voice level. "I will have other lovers. I may not get another chance like this."

Wilson's expression was impossible to read. He could have been disgusted by her callousness, or it might have been shock. Maybe it was fear. He was the only one who could chronicle House's downward spiral after a relationship ended. Now he had to pull him through another. He finally shook his head, wished her good luck, and left.

When she woke the next morning he was gone. She looked through the apartment and then checked the street in front of the building. His bike was gone too. She tried calling but his phone went straight to voicemail. That ruled out work, because he kept his phone on when he had a case. She killed time chain smoking and reading the Peace Corps website until he showed up around four o'clock.

"Where have you been?" She asked as soon as he walked in the door. "Do you have a patient?"

"Strip club."

"What?' They don't open until noon on Sundays. Where were you before that?"

"Waiting for the strip clubs to open and writing my congressman about that law."

"It's my last day here and you'd rather…"

"We've got tomorrow."

"You have to work. I have to run errands and pack and… it doesn't matter. You're here now. What do you want to do?" She put her arms around him and kissed him.

"It might be a while." He watched her face register confusion, then concern, and then anger. "It was a really good lap dance."

"Stop trying to pick a fight. I have one more day. I don't want to fight with you."

He pulled away from her. "You used to like fighting."

"It's not what I want right now."

"You're getting exactly what you want." They were the first uncalculated words he'd said to her in weeks. He hadn't meant to yell, but he also hadn't meant to give a damn.

"Thank you. Just say what you need to say. I know you're mad. Yell about it."

House just shook his head. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. She was sitting at the foot of the bed when he walked by. He stood in the door and she looked up at him.

"I don't want you to leave." His voice was low and he didn't look at her face.

"I know."She closed her eyes. "I don't want to leave you, but I can't have it both ways. I need to do this. I need you not talk me out of it."

"I couldn't talk you out of it."

"Yes you could." She smiled and a tear escaped. "I'm so scared, and I…" The words 'I love you' caught in her throat like they always did. "But I would hate you for it. I don't want to hate you."

House came to sit beside her on the bed, but didn't talk. He knew she wasn't done. She collected her thoughts and tried to decide what she really needed to say.

"You said that our best hope was end up so miserable that we didn't even care if it ended. If I stayed it would just extend our shelf life. You'd stay a little longer out of guilt. I'd try a little harder because I don't want to admit I made a mistake.

This is perfect. It's no one's fault. There are no bad memories, well a few, but not years worth. You still make me happy. You're still the best thing that ever happened to me." She hissed a breath as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn't sob or shutter, but closed her eyes and let them fall. He put his arms around her and kissed her, pulling her to him and letting her go.

She'd said she'd meet him at the apartment at six o'clock, but House knew that the last bus to New York left at six thirty. He also knew she wouldn't take the last bus of the day in case he found a way to make her miss it. He took Wilson's car to the station and waited.

He watched her walk from the city bus stop to the platform. She paced around the row of meal benches a few times before stepping a few feet into the parking lot and lighting a cigarette. When the bus came she moved closer to the hoards. Her back was tense and she clung to her bags as the people poured out of the bus and into the arms of loved ones.

As the chirping cheerful masses parted she saw him. He was just a few feet away and moving towards her. Her lips curled down and her jaw trembled as she tried to regain her composure. By the time he was standing next to her the tears were flowing in a steady stream.

"Shit." She mumbled. "You hate this kind of crap. You're only here because I didn't want you to come."

House nodded. "You deserve it."

She moved into him and wrapped him in her arms. She kissed him, and then hid her face, and then kissed him again until he could taste her tears and feel her fear. She couldn't control her sobs now. She didn't think she could get on the bus.

Her face was twisted with pain as she looked up at him and forced down her sobs until she found her voice. "I don't have to go. It's just a trip. I love you." Her breath caught when she said it as if she'd only just realized she meant it. Then she pleaded with him to make this easier for her. "Tell me not to go. Tell me we can make this work and that you love me."

"You have to go. We won't make this work."

Then he was silent. She looked as if she had been slapped. Silence was the cruelest thing he could have given her. Crueler than saying he didn't love her or saying he loved her but not enough. It would have been kinder to say he hated her. Now she would always know he loved her and always wonder if he didn't.

She nodded and opened her mouth, but no words came. He turned and walked away. His pace was slow and steady. She could have caught him. She wanted to stop him, but she couldn't or wouldn't, and they were boarding now. When her feet finally stepped toward the bus it felt like she was underwater. Every step was labored. She collapsed in the first seat she found and searched the parking lot for him or the car, but he was already gone.

When House got home he found this letter taped to the TV where he couldn't miss it or totally avoid it.

_House,_

_Don't be mad. I hate goodbyes. This seemed easier. It's really not. (Note the tear stain in the corner.) Thank you for everything. Don't forget me. I'm going to miss you like crazy. I'll write again soon. _

_Chris_

_P.S. Don't take it out on Wilson when he comes to check on you. _

A week later he got an e-mail but didn't respond to it.

_House,_

_So we aren't being sent over to replace the people who were lost in the mudslides. We are replacing the people who have already replaced them. It looks like I'm probably going to Cambodia. I'm going to need a separate bag just for sunscreen. _

_XOXO, Chris_

_P.S. I found the shirt. Thank you._

It was almost three months before he heard from her again. This time the e-mail was filled with pictures of other volunteers, brown skinned people, and beautiful scenery.

_House,_

_Sorry it's been so long. Now that I'm settled I can get to a computer more often. They keep us pretty busy. We're teaching an AIDs awareness class. The people I work with are awesome. Everyone is pretty awesome, and the great thing is they all assume that I'm awesome just because I'm here. _

_It's really lonely here. I miss you even more than I thought I would, and I knew I'd miss you a lot. I think about you when it rains. I guess I'm lucky it's the dry season. There was a Jeep broken down on the road a few days ago. I cried like a three year old. It was pretty awkward._

_I keep wondering if I made a huge mistake. I didn't, and if I did I can't change it now, but I keep wondering all the same. Don't worry. I'll be fine. You can't get antibiotics around here to save your life, but there is always something for the pain. _

_How are you? How're the kids? What's the weather like? This is me not so subtly saying you could respond if you wanted._

_Love, Chris._

The next one came a few week later.

_House,_

_I met Angelina Jolie. I saw her applying sunscreen and threatened to tell TMZ that I saw her buying children if she didn't give it to me. (I ran out in less than a month.) She took me back to her place where she had cases and cases of SPF 50, and then we made out a little. She says Brad doesn't mind as long as the kids don't find out._

_Ok,none of that is true except for the part about running out of sunscreen. I thought you'd enjoy the mental picture though. I guess if I don't hear from you after this I'll stop bothering you._

_Chris_


	22. Epilogue

TITLE: Epilogue

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS:

SUMMARY:

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

Almost three years later.

She paused in the lobby and took a good look around. They'd redone the floors. A huge banner for Race for the Cure hung from the second floor railings. Other than that is looked about the same. She moved towards the elevator, but stopped when she heard a familiar voice.

"Chris?" He almost didn't believe it was her. Her skin was golden and seemed to glow against a breezy white tunic that she wore over red tank top and khaki cargo pants. She would not have passed for seventeen anymore, but the change was as much in the way she moved and the look on her face as the sun damage.

"Wilson." She smiled and gave him a warm hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Great." She nodded.

"Are you… back?"

"Sort of, not really. I'm going to NYU next semester."

"Does he know you're here?"

"No. Are you going to warn him?"

"Do I need to?"

She smiled, grateful that Wilson was just as protective as ever, and shook her head. "I just want to say 'hello'."

She rode the same elevator to his office that she had a hundred times before, but it felt smaller than she remembered. It wasn't until she stepped into the hall and could see the door to his office that she began to feel nervous. Chase came walking out of the office as she approached.

"Hey." He stopped in his tracks. "How are you?"

"I'm good. You?" She smiled and hugged him quickly.

"Good."

"Is he here?"

"Yeah. In the office." Chase nodded. "Good luck."

"Thanks." She laughed.

She could see him, reclined in a new lounge chair, through the glass. She pushed the door open braced for any response, but soon realized he was asleep. She let the door shut and stood watching him for a moment. He looked entirely too peaceful. She wasn't sure how to proceed. How mad could he really be if she just climbed into his lap?

His feet took up a corner of the ottoman and after a while she perched on the other side. Her heart pounded from the nearness of him and she watched him a while longer. She knew that it might all be over the minute she woke him. He was certainly the type to hold a grudge.

Finally she took a deep breath and called him with a soft but not quite timid voice. "House." After a moment she called again a little louder. "House, wake up."

He opened his eyes and at first thought he was dreaming. With her hair loose and spilling down in front of her and a barrette with orange flowers clipped over one ear she looked like a perfect mix of his ex girlfriend and a Hawaiian Tropic's add, but no, he wouldn't have dreamed that much clothing.

"Hi." She was smiling at him.

"Shouldn't you be under a waterfall somewhere?"

"What?"

"Nothing. What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to say 'hi'." The smile faded and she seemed to hold her breath.

"You did." His voice was cold.

She sighed and nodded. "Ok." This was actually a pretty pleasant response compared to the yelling and throwing things she'd imagined on the plane, but it still stung.

She stood and reached for her bag. As she did he stood almost knocking her over. When she caught her balance their bodies were so close that she couldn't remember what she was about to do. House put his arms around her in an odd sort of half hug. She started to let her body relax against his, until she heard him sniffing her. Then he moved his head to the other side and sniffed her again.

"What are you doing?" She stepped back.

"Are you pregnant?"

"I.. no… Do I smell pregnant?" He never failed to leave her grasping for words.

"You quit smoking."

"Over a year ago. I bought a pack of something that was not tobacco. I met Buddha and John Lennon, and they left me in a tree with a spider the size of a cat. I almost got kicked out of the program, and haven't had another cigarette since."

"You're boobs are bigger."

"No they're not."

"You buy a Wonder Bra straight from the sweat shop?"

"Maybe I've toned up. Maybe you're getting senile."

"Breasts shrink when you lose weight."

"I've gained muscle, not lost fat. They look bigger because they are sitting on top of more muscle."

He was openly staring at her chest but didn't seem convinced. "You can feel them if you don't believe me." She grinned, mostly kidding.

When he reached out and grabbed one of her breast with a firm squeeze her mouth fell open and her lip quivered the way it did right before an orgasm. That made him smile.

"Why are you so sure you're not pregnant?"

"Because I'm not." She shook her head and looked down at his hand still cupping her breast. He let his thumb flick across her nipple.

Chase cleared his throat from the doorway and they both turned their heads to look at him.

"It's ok. I'm a doctor." House told him. "Did you give up sex?" He asked her.

"No." She shook her head and moved his hand.

"Just a dry spell?"

"I've had sex, just not with a man."

House closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She wondered what national anthem he was using these days. "What's her name?"

"Taylor."

"Is it serious?"

"No. She's Catholic. She can't be a lesbian on the same continent as her parents."

House groaned. "Cute?"

"Hot. Red hair, green eyes, vegan. I've got pictures." She winked.

"How long are you in town?"

She shrugged. "How much Viagra do you have?"

"I don't need Viagra."

"You might. I've really missed..."

They kissed and it felt like no time had passed. They kissed and groped and clung to each other until Chase gave up and left for the day. They kissed as people in the hall paused to gawk at them. They kissed until their heads were spinning and they're lips were raw. They kissed like he hadn't done since he was a teenager and like she couldn't remember ever kissing anyone and then they went back to his apartment and made love like they never had before.


End file.
